Farthest

Well, isn't it? The farthest I've gotten? I wouldn't think so but it actually may as well just be that. The farthest anyone or anything has gotten. Eh, now is not the time. Good luck, though.


It brings up a good point. A charity organization that updates its followers with inspiring quotes. But how often is too often when it comes to reading quotes? How far do people actually want to read? What if it was a celebrity updating what is going on in his or her life with quotes that got them to where they are now? Would fans be annoyed or inspired? These words (of wisdom or even phrases that result in "heh") are literally what go on in this person's head, but I am imagining that somehow these words can go unheeded. Ah first, though, if you literally don't see it then that's a different story. I am talking about pure annoyance with someone that you are a fan of. What the hell could it possibly mean to be a fan of someone? How far do you reasearch into someone's life without either: falling in or out of love, or using this knowledge to enhance your own? Then again the latter type of person couldn't even be considered a fan as much as a soon-to-be colleague. Whoa. Look, really I am specifically recording my thoughts immediately after seeing the page for To Write Love on Her Arms. Then, I thought of how what they post differs from what one average citizen might post. It's kind of merging with my thoughts of friends getting offended that I might be able to quote certain things as they come up. Eh, that's something else. Not far off, seeing as it deals with annoyance. I believe you always happen to read quotes at the perfect moments. Whatever that means. Here, the point is that you should kind of follow what would even provoke one person to quote another and at what moments. "Should." But not necessary. No should is really too necessary.

Companionship. You can't really be with someone that you don't really connect with, or someone that you can't easily talk endlessly to. Any relationship, basically. I'm not saying these opinions are mine. I'm thinking, one can have a dog as a companion and of course feel unfulfilled in the conversation aspect. But what about forgetting the qualities you're looking for? What if you begin to talk to a dog or anything else so much that you've just become busy? What if you let the human-thing set it, and you create your own motivation to keep on talking or keep on sitting-next-to. Maybe even the life-partner sense can work out. How have people been ignoring that their spouse "doesn't get it"? Maybe someone who "get's it" can only be with someone who "doesn't get it". The people closest to them will get it. That can be fine enough.

Well, I wonder if this worked at all. Those are my points. Just to keep me going, for like a split second, you know. Other than that... Heh well, just got word that I might be doing.... something.... in January. I hesitate to explain that I'm not giving exact detail yet.

I'm in the school registration process. Oh yeah of course. You know by know, right. Ugh. You. Still, if I can keep my head out of the mucky idea of what college used to be and what college actually is, then I'll be good. What college actually is versus what I'm actually doing are really perpendicular. Not necessarily clashing though. Fine. Skew. Hah irony. I've been talking about how horrifying Geometry was to me, and now look. Eh. Very small irony, yet big also since I used geometry humor. Wait, but that wasn't a joke. Ok stop. Like I said. If an academic career can be foiled simply by a chance disappearance of a classroom's folder, then I'm forced into skepticism.
What?

Last week is over. Haha. Good. It was very tyrannical. I didn't even know it. I cured. It must have been a good weekend. I still have a big off egg white crust on my sleeve. Possibly still a little bit of dog poit on the bottom of my shoe, as well. You can tell Matthew is going to be in the picture more often, soon.

This just in.. My mom just brought in an envelope, asking "Could this be for you and Tash?" The envelope was addressed to: Big Bro and Sister. There's no return address. I, eating leftovers, just said something about the possibility of anthrax. I'm not even sure what the state of the anthrax scare is, anymore. The post mark says it's from Michigan. I just finished eating, so I am more willing to try to open it. Gah. I hope it's a letter from the future. That's always my hope.

Wish me luck.

Back. I opened the envelope, carefully. Inside was a folded white sheet of paper. I pulled it out, and inside were two portrait-like photos of two young boys. Christ. I hate finding stuff like that. On the backs were their names and current ages. My first thoughts (I think even before turning them around to see the actual photos) were that I was supposed to be some assassin or bounty hunter. Now listen up. I don't even like that type of fiction. All I can say is that anyone else may have had the same thoughts. My minions told me that those were the first two options :). Really, that thought went away as soon as it arrived. Then of course came the "letter from the future" thing again. Well. These two boys are brown. I'll be damned if they're my offspring. Especially the one marked "Zach". I hate this kid. Hah, actually he looks like the boy from the George Lopez show. The sitcom, I mean. You know. I had to watch it on my Chicago trip. Rabbit ears.

Nope. I'll never have those two particular boys. They're no good. See, there's no telling though. An envelope with no return address. That's either attributed to forgetfulness, lack of envelope etiquette, or hell. From the future. Come on. And in the end of it all- please just let me have my imagination. I wonder whatever happened to that one girl that I met a couple times as a kid. Her uncle or family friend or just some older guy kept teasing her about having an extra toe. No telling if she actually did have an extra toe. But then I guess it wouldn't be a tease-able thing if it were true. I think I was just sitting off to the side, bored. I wonder if I actually made friends with those kids. I think it might have been their mom that was friends with my dad. Now I remember the lady's name because it was the first time I ever heard the name Reina. My dad told me it meant "queen". I keep visualizing this.. these streets that kind of look like they belonged in an unfinished neighborhood. I remember walking around... or being forced out of common courtesy to walk around... with her kids. Something about juice, too. Gah, that's just going to make me think about Ralph. And Beverly. Weird periods of time with my dad's friends. My dad's friends who just happened to have kids for me to play with.

Wait. I'm still talking about these two bastards that got sent to me in the mail. What, am I doing charity now? Christ, who are these kids? The obvious answer would be to send them to the correct address, right? Nah. This is the address that was written on the letter. Minus the "northeast" part. Wait, there were previous renters. The only reason I didn't think about that is because I had heard about the guy who was here in between us living here. He kicked holes in the walls, apparently. Who the hell would send pictures of young men to a man like that? In that case, the family... or friends.... will sort that out, amongst themselves. It's probably just some pathological gift someone just sent me as a cruel, Hank joke. Other than that, I'll just exploit the hell out of these pictures... no, no, they bother me too much. I would just kind of jokingly use them as placeholders in books at the most. And I won't burn them. I won't burn these pictures literally because I'm suspicious of the fact that I'm even thinking about burning them in the first place. Sigh. Look. I'll leave them where they are. I don't know the name for that particular article of furniture, but that's where they are. Sort of tucked under the paper towel my mom uses to collect incense ashes. There.

No one could have possibly expected this, but this is what happened. It happened to me in the middle of some odd writing practice I was doing. Good enough. I won't forget it. And speaking of which, I don't want to forget the other details. On my way to the piece of furniture I just mentioned, I did stop in the kitchen. I almost placed the envelope and pictures on the counter. That would have been too much. No, but my mom had just cooked these little apple tarters or something. Very good. A thin pie crust with chunks of green apple, with some sort of caramel-like (it very well may be caramel. or home-made caramel) sauce, and toffee chips. I've already forgotten them. There's plenty left, but I wanted to test whether or not I could hold off on devouring a dessert immediately. See. I'm good. Thing kinda have to be good. Gah, to think. The one thing that I have a tinge of doubt about right now is just.. my other life. My 1st 'other' life. I'm feeling iffy about.. ok there's got to be a different 'venue' for me to talk honestly about the..ugh.. comedy team. There's nothing "ugh" about it, but a very harsh change of pace. Minions telling me "no, don't." but I've got it. There's no right way. I'm feeling very good about the state of this topic (and we all like to think we're caring the most out of anyone) but there are very tiny little frays that could become problems later. I don't know. That's something I'd have to talk about. "Talk" about.

Well, then. It's good. Plus, I'm offended by the word "good". Plus, I can't tell if I'm saying "I'm offended" as a habit that Nick has rubbed off onto me. Now, if I was really in a paranoia-ish mood, then I'd completely change my wording of that last sentence. Current mood: lounge. Back hurts, and I'm just now realizing I didn't take the walk I planned for today. Craig. Ah well.

This worked.

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.

Actual

Ok, of course. Woke up at Grant's. Woke up a bunch of times, but waited until 8:45 like we said we would. In the middle of the night, Fide kept complaining about how cold he was. I woke up and saw him, there, sleeping with the green screen wrapped around him. The sight of that. I kept waking up before the alarm, though, and had like 2 or more dreams of when we actually eventually woke up. One of the dreams was one of those situations where I'm up before everyone (like in real life) and I start to wander around. I ended up finding some vending machines outside. One had plastic bags of already opened snacks, in the part where you get your food. I knew that because I figured, if I ever owned vending machines, I'd put unfinished snacks back where they came from. I wouldn't though.

My alarm finally went off, and I saw them kind of react. They just didn't get up. Wasted a good 2 hours. First thing I talked about was the concept of Nate Dogg that I find to be really funny. I would have imported the night's footage, by myself, but I wouldn't know how. Ugh. So, I just started making a new little song. Odd, though. Finished off two of the songs I mentioned from last night. I had to work at 12 so I ate the last of the breadsticks, and we left. I was dropped off at home and my mom took me to work.

An in-credib-ly slow work day. For the first two hours, at least. Then, whatever. I guess, that'd have to be it. Oh reminds me I should mention to mom that she didn't come in for that test she signed up for. Some free physical test, where a guy at a table sits there and talks to people or something. I think there's a machine, but I have no idea what the deal is. He's just set up in front of the bulk section. Doesn't talk to any of us. Of course, except when Tash took her test that she also signed up for. Gah, I was in the same section he was in front of, and I couldn't explain a thing. Except how the first guy signed up looked like Redd Foxx, just darker. I also remember how the tester guy got a phone call in the middle of this guy's test and I found it really funny to think about how the guy is supposed to react. I wanted to get an obnoxiously long shot of the guys face as he's waiting for the test-guy's phone to stop ringing.

I had no idea what I was doing for that first part, though. Nothing to be done. I looked lost because it was so slow. I should have been anxious, but it was just frenzy in my mind. Not any worries. Just "you seriously can't expect me to pretend to be busy." Some new mode. When I was picked up, I ate this new sandwich that i don't remember. No way to enjoy tasting food. Not in the 'organic whole cloves' reference way, but in the way of 'the fact that people think taking something slow will make it more enjoyable.' Which is actually the same reference. "Dude, I read this part in that book you were reading." I mean to say-- Actually I found my answer now. The slow part means to study the senses of the action, in order to kind of think back on it again. So, if I had eaten any slower, I could eat it any other time I want. Drag and drop.

Good sandwich, kinda. Nit.