Theater.

It started out with a dream, and the most significant part was the number 14. That's how many seconds we were able to last. You were keeping score. I noticed, so I one-upped and wrote 15. Maybe it'd give us something to strive for, next peek. Somehow, you ended up on my left side and finally spoke. Unfortunately, all you did was inform me of a quote. As a result, what you said was something about a phallic object being over-used. Still- underneath your actual words, I heard a tone of something like "You know, we're not always going to have this chance. We might as well enjoy it (or do something about it)" That's when I actually had to wake up, and walk around.

Before that conclusion of the dream, in hindsight, the storyline was a premonition of the subject-matter of the actual day that was ahead. I was in a car. I did things that would offend anyone who had known me, previously. This person was offended, but it was settled. We had all sat down to watch some animated feature about animals. At a point there were three animals, separated by two lines on the screen. The cartoon outlines of the animals had stood stagnant, and the shape of the animals were essentially a maze. In the actual context of the maze, the edges were bumpers in which all biological matter of the animal had exited the body. These animated creatures were decaying, from the inside.

Then came the part where you joined me. If you know who "you" are, then it can only mean you remember the same dream. We were keeping track of the time it took us to be able to look into the eyes of one another. One another. I know. It legitimizes itself because, like I said, I had to wake up. When I did wake up, it was one exactly one hour before the time I had planned to wake up. I had a plan, this day. I was thrown an empty package of birth-control pills to throw away. I asked what these ones in the middle are for. Mon. Tue. Wed. Thur. Fri. Sat. So on. The ones in the middle- blatant placebo. That would be the word that echoes throughout the day. Placebo. It's just so elementary.

I had time to prepare, so I actually considered which parts of my plan I would actually keep the same. It turns out, that placebo was involved- in contrast to what I did not think. Reunited with the road, and our party grew. It hit me. We had to walk around, so that our pride would not get a little bit "vintage." Our first stop was in the corner store that everybody steals from. I call it that because I was the last one out. I remember convincing myself that there had actually been gummy cyanide candies, inside. There's no telling how long I was actually in the store, or how long I actually did drink from the water fountain. I held some water in my mouth, reminiscent of when you weren't allowed to keep drinking from the fountain in earlier school days. I was looking in a mirror when I finally took that last sip, as if I had gone back for an entire other drink.

It took forever for me to finally walk outside, and to realize that the figures outside waiting were actually each one of the people I had walked here with. We finally sat down, and that's exactly it. I stopped moving. They stopped moving. I made a point, I disappeared. My plan showed up. A table of a lot of mascots for the month, thus far. Here for me, that's where it began. This was my chance, but the two days prior were intended for forgetting what I would do in this situation. It wasn't the hypothetical situation that I could expand upon for hours, but it was somewhat of a digit. All through the day, people asked my if that was a "heart" on my neck. It was just red marker. One of the first few words that were said involved the variation of 'placebo' that caught me off guard. Someone was going to call me a phony.

Two people met, and I couldn't enjoy it. People meeting each other is one of my favorite situations. Sometimes that situation would cause me to scream. It was for the better. I remember trying my hardest to figure out the word I was looking for to portray the visual of a tv-personality's lines being scrolled up through a monitor. I had to think of that in order to explain how someone had previously been speaking in paragraphs. Underneath, something much more important happened this day.

It took me about three hours to eat the box of rice and beans that I was fooled into buying, when I needed it the most. Slowly, several disappointeds came and went. I didn't disappoint them, at all. My piece of disappointment came from the delivery of some message I thought I would be able to send. There were some people who were around me, for the sake of being around me. I didn't know it. There were several times, in the past, that I wanted to be around them. I didn't hear what I wanted. That's what makes me a phony. A synthetic. Intellectuals want groups of intellectuals because they have a higher concentration of being alone. Being alone makes words that much harder to hit. You can't really hide for two weeks, and expect to jump out and tell someone why they should hide. Redeem yourself, and just present it to them like you had planned.

So, there. One takes shape of the real thing, but it doesn't really give much effort in to being portrayed as the real thing- that one ends up being the disappointment. The other somehow gets help from others into being just something similar. A clear case of "Hell, why not?" So, I claimed not to know. I didn't know it then, but my state of being stubborn fixed my dilemma that I was trying to enact the entire weekend. Eventually, it's a paradox, but now I just need a lot of replacements. A lot of Hell, why not's. Some imaginary friend, they've got. In the same breath, I don't want to give any person the satisfaction of being imaginary if that's what they claim to be.

Although, now that I think about it, we're probably giving the same reaction. Gabbing and being gabbed about. If only our spokesperson swapped places. It'd make the story a little bit more suspenseful. So my plan, and paradox, was just detachment. That being done, just means it's time to go on with the rest of the day. That's when I remembered that I just couldn't. This was the last stroke before my portrait dries. My next mission was to figure out who I thought I was. Something like that.

I was told who my mom and my sister were. They're just names, this day. I was told that I wasn't doing enough. It was a parody of publicity, spoken by those who mirror it. Researching me, they know that I'm somewhat of an alter ego. I'm a generous alter ego with no need to hide the original person. I will, however, hide the name. It'll show up, inevitably. I found them because I was separated from my central "group." I was apart from my temporary group- the friends you end up with on a field trip. I had left the tabloids. Again, I was in the middle of a crowded town center. I heard the same voice that I heard one year ago. One of the local bands that perform here, each year. That's when I was convinced of my latest theory. The one where I shamefully agree that we're all in the same year, always. It made sense, this time.

There was another part where I had tried to explain my theory that I had just before that one. It's ok, though. There's only one missing piece. The second time I explained that one, was when I realized a common theme in children. I was with another group, the new-schoolers. I looked down to see a child calling my name because he looks up to me, in a matter of thinking. Hell, I can't disappoint him. I can't let him down, even if he only thinks I'm from the tv- which I am not. I asked the new school advice on what I should be doing with my life. I asked because I expected them to answer with exactly what their parents are giving them. They surprised me, but only left me with what I had already known. Who isn't thinking about travel, in this situation?

I convinced myself that my descendant was staring deep into my eyes. Still a baby. This was the second one that let me know what I was doing. I was walking around, station-to-station, asking who I was and what I should do. Looking for more, I ended up near where I want to be one day. That's when my televised group showed up. They were looking for me, and I went into the place that I want to go one day. I had been there before, it was no big deal, but circumstance is a factor. With them, I was reunited with the personal effects of my group. This was a point where I would not say a word. Lost, and revolving around me, this was my self. There was the mother and father, the insecure, the introverted, the skeptic, and the subconscious. I'm just as ashamed as their ability to decide, but they were a working body. My body walked through the area, just as I do when I wander. We detached again. This time, minus the introverted and the skeptic. We were among the casual.

Toward the end of it all, I realize that I am who I am in others. Out-of-body, I could practically be nothing more than a fake profile. I could be the main character of everyone's favorite story wrapped into one protagonist. Just as an imaginary person can be remembered in legends, folklore, and handed down stories- I can be remembered in casual conversation. Physically, I am represented in the actions of a group of any given number of friends. Quite literally, I'd be a desperate attempt of a child's imagination to create bs.

Feeling doesn't matter much to me, I guess. I can empathize, sympathize, and even synthesize (maybe even "peepathize")- but feeling is not a reaction I will ever aim for. I guess that swaps one letter. What I realized, through this visual journey, was just a couple of hints for what I can do. I think. This time, I hope not to disappoint.

I am myself, and I might as well be my fake self. Your self.

Eye

Which was first- reflection, or the discovery of another human being? We know the answer. It's the first human contact.

Yeah this month is not existing. Going analog though.

Hurts

Speak

"Forget looking good! I am in pain!" - Just written down, here. Reminds me, "when I hear the word 'freedom,' I think of a sandwich." Has to be.

Ok, well, I've been getting word that there's possibilities of a good weekend. It kind of presents itself as either a climax or a reward. Like a way to point out that things don't happen according to the written record of weeks, months, and hot dates. Ouch.

Yeah, though. Whoa, I accidentally, heh, "good" weekend. I mean. Hell, it's positive. Anyway, mine and their days off. Experimentals. Then, just every day I try to tickle the thought of happen-to-be. Just, the entire time, my chest hurts worse than a lot of things. Might need a bigger boat, though.

If I don't get anxious, then I have a treasure chest. I have a bruised treasure chest. An embarrassing chest that has gained me a green bruise of a golden chest. If it spreads, then I can't do much for treasure. Hard to keep my posture.

Who is letting me do these things? Flawless. I will pack my opening statement, my review, my resume, and my pitch. Some head-shots. Just to prove that I am able to get away with hopping the fence. My poor eyebrows. They've had it the worst.

Trouble, too. Not here, but in old words from today. Old worlds from today. All the same hour- I dare you to travel. I hope you do not enjoy your trip- that's mine. Not mine, though.

Almost as if my fingers are just too good for this. Wow, I walked around in those places, and I hope you will too. I've been planting the scenery as well because I can't remember these places not looking familiar. He's some non-exist. I hope there's a shooting. That megaphone. Thank goodness, nah go for God. More relevant.

Allowed to. Tips of these things. Nah, it's ok. I'm in pain, with no response. Familiarity, all over again. Ouch. Why don't people who claim to be in pain repeat the word "ouch" just in case some one hears? "Wow, you must hurt pretty bad, lol. What's going on?"

No, ouch, though.

Bruise

Match

When the good part of the day and the bad part kind of swap places. When you forget to reward yourself, at some point. When, whatever that smell is. It's true. "Everyone in that building is lost-it-in-life." Of course, a phrase about which there is no telling who sees it as a common thing.

I must be dim-witted. Sorry, but no time. I was proud of myself, then I just realized that I am not doing what I told myself I was going to think about doing. It's not my fault, really. In other words, I may just be sluggish. No time to say a full sentence and keep in mind the fact that you know how each person responds. Just really no time. It's a mix of the cause, and just prevention.

Why don't I, though? How am I not? The kids are walking out with one dollar bills again. Yeah, the common theme of today. "Do something new." Something to cause you to travel. Kind of like the whole mix-up at baggage claim or whatever. My luggage is doing what I want to be doing.

Actual mood change. Forcing my stomach. This guy has dollars, and I have no dollars. Not the case, actually. Neck-to-neck. I probably just have to walk around the right disaster. One person in mind, involving that disaster. One person in mind, involving luggage. One person in mind, involving dollars. Then, a different race of person, involving proud.

I'm glad. Make me feel surprised. An understandingly weary high-five of open-mindedness. Clear juxtaposition: "I have never heard you say one normal sentence." Then, I respond with a "normal" sentence, and it doesn't click. I teach elders math, and how to spell. Elders, or the better term, that should "teach" me.

Yes, if you can look past the idea that must be far out there. Look past that, and see that there is some good in coming to your past, from the future. Just in order to understand how to appreciate things you don't even like. Despise is still gross. Ecstatic for homeworks, and dumb videos. Still. I'm sluggish. Just to tune out. I must go nowhere. If only I was ok with nothing on top of nothing. No confusion between busy and other busy.

Fade, or something.

Hunt

It's ok now. The first thing that happened this morning was a mutual stomach hurting. Dizzy, Nick answered his phone to find out that someone had found his wallet. None of us had any idea it was gone. There's the first mission of the day. Collect wallet.

We stumbled to his car, a nice day outside, and got inside. We were first welcomed by that demo disc that the man from last night had given us. We drove to the location, easy as that. Passed the house and went onto the campus of Kennesaw Mountain High School to turn around. There it was. His wallet was just on the hood of some pollen-covered truck.

On the ride back to my home, we listened to things that can only remind us of an earlier time. He dropped me off. Mission over. I finished up the video I had been working on. Still not sure of its results. Eventually time passed, and some other plot tried to thicken. 2;15 instead of 2:45 sure. Oh well.

And Tonight was the first time I had ever watched a movie two times in a row.

Three different days, practically. I hadn't even mentioned Justin's false hope and Mark's new hope. Those will unravel.

Such a long day put into those words. Amen.

Relief

Alright. Feeling somewhat of a thing like addiction about internet, now. Trying not to keep checking, but tomorrow is my only day off and I just can't make the most of my time. Have to calm. Alone, free.

Woke up after this dream. A broadway adaptation of Nick. Text messages, of all things. Product placement. Secret messages. Real versus what I think I'm saying. Then there- the nerve that I have to wonder what something means.. What is a 'blue flunkerfish'? Vividly in my dream.

Two movies involving "thorazines." Then, just fake profile freakout. I know. More product. Just trying to scrape the last of it out. I'm all alone, you know.

help?

Rain

No real rain. The Common theme.

Yes or no

Liberation

Another dragging on, questions asking, 'you look tired' or "can't- work" type of day. I may just "blow my brains out". You may know what I mean, ha. Oh the liberation. Hah, who knew? No, I mean. To legitimately escape from everything, including blow-brains and runaway, and stay in the same place.

Ok wait. First thing. Tell myself. Messy desk or messy room thing. Maybe so. Yes so. I don't come off the right way, though. I need some calender dates. Not maybes.

Stay up late or wake up early? too late. Ok maybe a pause. Like I'd have that sleep choice though. Something is straining me, forcing me not to proceed. Gone.

Tore

Thus ends what may have been the last of the House-Buyers. Not really. House-buying is new. It's years in the making. I don't like my own personal labels. Except my own. Now let me get to my real mood.

Upset or disappointed or suspicious. Whichever, there'll be some kind of stupid realization at the end so I can just go "see, it's all on purpose." Right? I might as well say it now, to expedite variation. I can remember loads of words, see? So suddenly, it's after midnight. They take it all away from you. All of them are taking all of it from all of us. The house owners have got any potential buyers by the balls. I'd hate to revert back to rebellion, but is it not the case? Sentenced to hell under our own personal masters? Water coming in, to taunt me. Bloody tears, in some other country. Those who wrote the bible, practicing their satire. Some divine literary competition, while I face shopping cart poetry. Tortures of the damned, yes. It's a rite of passage to get exactly what you ask.. around. A pre-requisite of those who were tortured, in order to kick back and just say "ohhh" in pure pleasure. Bit by bit, in order to keep away the actual previous final destinations. From prison to slavery.

The letter. "i can not deel with this any more and unfortinitly i am going to run away" or I assume. Some childhood experience. Somebody else's family. Still, children have the right idea. Pack up one or two of their favorite toys, a package of candy, and the clothes on their back. That'd get them farther than they'd think- which isn't saying a lot because their expectations dive in about an hour.

Still. It may just be heat confusion. Won't stop the tragedy, though. I don't want to introduce myself if I have to include the sounds of "twenty-" or "thirty-" and so on. Only a little over a year to do so. Ok, fine. Maybe I just won't be able to do anything with the actors and folks over 80. I'll just have to keep finding newer interesting people to hope to one day meet. What, in the hell on earth, is the true Hard Work? Where exactly is that one point where I finally, by myself, just let loose and start something and get it done? I thought it was "put me in a room, give me something to do, and close the door." Am I still supposed to be practicing? How long to practice before one accidental good thing happens? How long will I have the same mood?

Sleep can be a reward or a waste of time. It depends on who's giving it to you. I'll bet, eventually, that'll be the same case with a lot of things.

Did you know you're not allowed to change your tragic flaw? You're supposed to take the fall for anyone who was born with that tragic flaw. See? If you're the one who is showing the other people who have the same destiny as you, then you have to show them how not to have the same destiny as you. At least you'll be a hero. A tragic hero, again.

I've become.

Solar

Woke up for the whole Easter thing. Had to celebrate, you know. Dyed eggs and eventually hunted them down. Just a day with the family. Practically paparazzi.

Just whatever. Walked around with my camera.

Hone

Yeah willingly unresponsive. In the past week maybe, I got my new camera. Made 2 videos in one night. Already old news. One of them can actually be described as the ultimate Pito Video to date. It is my 50th one I've uploaded to the tube, so good coincidence. I say ultimate because it contains features of all my previous solo works. Viral, anyway.

Today hasn't really done justice. Aggravated, I think. Got off and took a nap. Work takes more hours away from your life than you know. It's really not fair (well you got a point there.) Watching old Fredryk Phox and realizing that he was another one of the people who have subliminally influenced me during that one part of my life. It's almost sad though. The fear of a cycle.

I think I may be stressed or aggravated tonight. Ashamed of the fact that I went through today looking how I look. The clothes, I mean. No idea what anyone else saw. Ok and "you look thinner and thinner" losing weight 'compliments.' Too bad I overheard the same person compliment another person. "Younger and younger." Except that was a bigger ruckus. With me, I just kind of. Fake smile. "Are you happy?" Asking if the compliment worked. I have no idea of reality, actually kinda. No idea what I look like, which may or may not matter. No idea what it is. Then of course someone would say: "Dude, everybody feels that way." Alright. Yeah let's leave that one there until I have proof.

All my obligations are paid. More library books. Three, this time. Three separate rooms.

Oh yeah and talking to Nico about all of us getting together for a new show. So far it looks like we're considering the Wonder Root. Who knows. I think we all agree yes. Justin won't be MC MassMurder he says. Hopefully we're building our following. wish we had a following though. Still, also maybe a picnic show in my backyard. Then when MC Mass finally finishes his album, a much better show. I'm already miles ahead of myself. I want the Cool Winners junk to have been established, MC to move on, the bridge between Nico's folks and us to be built, and the Creepy Ghosts explained. All that's in the past to me. In my mind, my entire career (past and future) is all just in the past. I think we need to bite off something we can barely swallow. Disappoint a lot of folks except the ones who pay enough attention. Already.

Tabloids about us. Able to happen. Just no idea who the hell we are. Death wish. we're all in chaos, not chaotic chaos but left over chaos from when we were in chaos. Not big enough to be chaotic. There's an entire story here. He's torn, Georgie. This is drama. So, what? Do I just write the biopic or the documentary? Who wants the same story, twice? It's a multiverse, so it quenches but also drouts. Thirsty as hell.

An that dreadful To-Do list. Somethings literally can only be done in a certain light. You Know? Begging to work myself to death. The way I want to work, clearly. Stop this, it's nonsense. For people to just eat these things. This store is just gluttony. Why put so much emphasis on FOOD? Out of their minds. That, in fact, should be the ring of hell for sinners of gluttony. Food as a goal, as comfort, as something to talk about, life? Ridiculous. I wouldn't mind any of these folks just going to hell. Ok, I shouldn't be at this point. This is how everyone ever has complained about work. I've been complaining about work all of my life.

I must explode.