2003-04-17 - 5:59 p.m.: mobster bisque

i am on fire. en fuego. and not in the usual sense... i feel so hot that i'm CERTAIN the air around me is moving a little bit more quickly out of concern. people *have* been known to spontaneously combust. everybody knows that. i think it has to do with my weather tricks... i gotta admit, i'm pretty psyched. falling ice turns to blue skies for no good reason, with no advance notice? hmmmm. i think this could be worth looking into.

i want to explode in many vibrant colors that fade into even more vibrant infinities.

is that okay?

good.

tickets have been purchased allowing me to go to "field day" in new york city in june. see sigur ros. see radiohead. see roots and beck and beastie boys and elliot smith. etc. i am so excited for this. i'm less excited than i was yesterday, because i found out that there's a frenzy of local activity surrounding this particular event, and that more than just a few people i know are going to be there. it should make me happy to know this, but it doesn't. it makes me irritated. i think it's because i look at "going somewhere" as "venturing out into the great wide open," not, "intentionally stretching my 'immediate surroundings' into the great wide open." i don't want to take this town with me. i want to leave it behind. i wonder what that says about me. probably nothing. but it says a lot about how i view life.

i don't think i'm capable of hanging on to things�or memories�and moving forward (or sideways or in or up or out) at the same time. it's like... if i'm holding something then i'm standing still. if i start to move i drop it. i think i've just dropped a lot, because, although i feel higher than a kite, lighter than air, i can't really *feel* right now. the closest i get to real emotion is this heat. this warmth. a buzz like a humming in my head, like a weak battery spending the last of its juice without really accomplishing anything. i don't know if that's good or bad, to be so unattached. so un-plugged-in.

and frustration. bang my fucking head against a wall. with spikes in it. STOP DOING THE SAME THINGS OVER AND OVER AGAIN FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. IT DIDN'T WORK THE FIRST TIME OR THE SECOND TIME OR THE THIRD TIME, SO COVER IT UP AND MOVE ON.

and pleasure. sometimes this world and these people are so beautiful that i'm taken by surprise. i love you when you're genuine. sincere. making mistakes. demolishing the competition. heh. but don't bother talking to me if you're just spreading gloss and shine, publicly waxing your own veneer. greasy motherfuckers. i'm better at that game than you are, and i'll deflect it with a smile. if you're really obnoxious i might even tell a joke. if you make me want to kill myself� i'll laugh at it.

then give you my phone number.

bitches.

this weekend is an ultimate tournament, then cleaning and painting a room at my parents' house, all alone. PINK. on easter. i think i'll buy some on-sale cr�me eggs and throw them as hard as i can against the 'old' wall and call it art. maybe not. i throw like a girl.

really.

maybe that's enough rage for one entry. someone throw some ice on my head and bring me back to earth.

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(now really...did you think i was serious about that? fuck you! didn't you read my last entry? this is EGGSACKEDLY where i want to be. ;o)

later gator.

inward...outward