For awhile my mind has been the blankest tablet. I’m not thinking about anything. I feel like the weird, eerie, white void on that episode of Sponge Bob when Squidward went too far into the future…
Recently I feel like there’s nothing behind my face. Okay. That makes no sense. Like, you know when you look at someone and their eyes look dead— and you think they’re either zoned out, miserable or just an air-head? Like Lady GaGa in the Let’s Make a Sandwhich part of the Telephone video. Well, I feel like I’m looking at myself doing that. I feel like everyway I act is me being to conscious of what I’m doing. Normally I like to just be rash and act on impulse—only because I feel like those drives are the purest me—but recently it’s been too calculated. My personallity, my person, my interactions.
Like one day I can be all cool and sociable. And then another day I’m awkward and weird. One day I’m chilling and everyone’s asking What’s wrong?! And then another day I’m being too much and annoying. I never feel comfortable being any of the extremes. I feel like the only appropriate thing to say after following that random-unorganized-parallel structured speil would be: OH MY GAWD! WHO AM I?
Sometimes my thoughts about me being so calculated and phony really upsets me. It makes me feel as though I’m a genuinely cold person—but conversely I’m warm and open through the eyes of other people.
I feel like one big ass stutter manifested into my non-forward, forward progession. Double negative. Circumspecting. Goodie.
Alright. So I just got back from this little college informational meeting at my school— and it freaked me the hell out, while somehow allowing me to relax about the entire situation. (By the way, it was freaky as hell seeing everyone’s parents; it made me thinking about the DNA variation unit in Biology, but anywayyy…)
My approaching future is freaking me the hell out because it’s coming. Circumspecting again. Being redundant again. But my future is coming. I kind of miss the idea of putting things off because it was too soon to think about them. Not thinking about being an adult or responsible because I was young. I’m going to be in college, enjoying spring break 2 years from now. Experiencing life as a self-reliant, self-governing adult. Wheew. Freaks me out so much. Like, not at home. Momma not around. Alone.
I’m relaxed about my approaching future because this extremely charismatic ambassador from this college told us about the college acceptance process. I swore I WAS NOT getting in to college. I kind of just expected to get into some amazing college of my dreams—basically anyone I choose—but when I realized my grades were some shit, I freaked out because I knew is wasn’t going to happen. Hearing a lot of that information helped me realize that I’m going to end up a really nice college, and my future isn’t spiraling down an infinite drain of failure. Wheew. I feel so good now. Like, I’m going to be sucessfull. Enjoying a great life. Awesome.
I’m anxious about my too close future— well, future is always approaching (circumspecting again)— so I guess I’m anxious about the near future where I have to make decisions that will change the rest of my life, but I’m glad they’re coming, because I’m ready to take my life by the horns. I’m ready to fulfill the dreams I’ve always wanted; fulfill the same dreams I put off into the near future. The decisions part is scary, but the idea of the dreams growing to become my reality makes me excited.
of sneaks you’ve open my eyes to a bunch of people. Tumblr, you made me think about the millions of different people that exist in the world. You’ve made me think about the millions of different people that exist in the world that are nothing alike at all. You’ve made me think aboout the millions of different people that exist in the world that are nothing alike at all that are nothing like you would have expected just seeing them or speaking to them a few times.
I really like coming on here and reading people’s extremely long posts about how they’re thinking— like seeing how somebody in (maybe) the same situation as me (or a similar one) is handling it. Taking on the situation in a way that I would have never thought to. I like reading people’s salty rants about their terrible days and the resolutions they come to. I know everybody is real, but it’s just refreshing to see people being human (I’m circumspecting and being redundant again). I even like seeing photography people post (sometimes). It’s cool to consider what people find interesting—when conversely I might think it’s pointless. And music… I like hearing what people think to be the shit, when it sounds stupid to me.
I guess what I’m doing a poor job at saying is that I like perspectives. Like my friends Femi and Eddie. We have nothing in common: they’re ridiculously cynical, conservative, capitalistic, Marxist realists. I’m always find myself arguing with them, but it’s nice. The world needs some balance, some variety, some different people, some difference of opinion. (Homosexual moment…) I just wish we could all appreciate the difference, and what they offer and append them to our belief systems; instead of being all pretentious and high-and-mighty, thinking one is better than the other, or right for that matter.
Tumblr, I just fucks with you. This is random but I feel like you’re an alternate reality where people keep it one hunnit. Like one of my friend’s boyfriends; he recently got a Tumblr and I had no idea he was all poetic and deep.
As I think about all the pointless things to rant about for this even more pointless Six-Hundreth Post the song Season’s of Love is playing through my head, sung acapella by starving orphans. Why?
I’m actually really glad I found tumblr. I get a chance to be overly opinionated and self-centered daily. I think it’s help cut back on how much I’m like that in real life. Sort of.
I’m a very violent person. Not violent. Probably malevolent. I had a dream a couple of days ago that I killed my friend Connor. Like I chopped his head of, then chopped his body into multiple pieces to keep anyone from identifying his body. The sadest part was that his death wasn’t the center of the dream, it was only a side detail. Anyone reading this: don’t be suprised if 20 years from now you find out I’m a mass murderer— tell interviewers you knew all along and saw it coming.
I always want shit. I don’t ever really work for it, though. Does that mean I don’t want it? Guess not. But, seriously, I really do want it.
I’ve been doing this really malicious inside joke with my friends for the last couple of days. It consists of taking something one person says and turning it into a question. Ergo— Hey, Damon I don’t agree. Do you not agree? Because I was thinking last night, and I really think you don’t agree? (And then the person goes:) I don’t remember This has turned me into a circumspecting, sarcastic asshole. Speaking in circles and not getting anywhere in conversations. I don’t even know how to hold a productive, real conversation anymore. Woops
Hey, if you ever read my blog— Thank you, you’re awesome. Are you thankful? Do you like when people read your blog? Because I was thinking last night and I think you like when people read your blog. Are they awesome? Why am I so strange?
I’m here with my mans Sonia (http://sonezie.tumblr.com). I’m really trying to figure out where Eddie is— I swear he was here this morning. I’m getting really freaked out because this kid Ricky in my class is playing the craziest music and my journalism teacher Mr. Keegan is bobbing and singing along to all of it. Like the fucking song My Neck, My Back.
It was the day before my birthday. It was raining. I distinctly remember feeling that this day would be horrible. It wasn’t horrible, but things weren’t working in my favor that day at all. Isak, probably the most amazing friend I had during this time (only because she’s the only one who genuinely wanted me to have a good birthday experience), made sure that my day wasn’t dreadful and gloomy. She helped me decide on a movie. So we along with Jesse and Somala went downtown. Jesse and Isak brought a little friend to facilitate the good time. We enjoyed our friend, some more than others, too much of a good thing is never good, but nonetheless, we enjoyed our friend.
This is where my memory goes to hell
We saw She’s Out of Your League. With no help from the man selling me my ticket; he had no idea this was my birthday night. He was just doing his job. Once again my age kept me from a smooth night. Isak’s of age mom was there to the rescue, though. I have no recollection of what the movie was about, all I remember is a lot of Noodles and Company being eaten while I was watching, a hot blond girl with perfect breasts always on screen, and Somala leaving twice to throw-up— and everytime Isak saying slurringly, "Guyssss, I have to be thar fur hur to hold hur haaaiirr" Then we went back to Noodles and Company, for more pasta no one really needed. Then Isak’s mom took me home where I picked up my phone (that I left home in the first place) and to get Tekken. Went to Connor’s with Jesse to meet Con and Yoey. I remember gloating in Yoel’s face because I smashed him in Tekken, drinking a lot of water, Connor being asleep for some reason, and Jesse glowing the entire time.
Where my full memory recovers is the next morning. For some reason atleast 4 pounds of gum was stuck between my leg and Connor’s bed when I woke up. No one was chewing gum. Don’t ask how that happen
This fancy term is a smart way of saying language effects the way we experience the world, intereact with people, and think.
I thought this was the most interesting thing I’ve learned in Psychology all year. Only because I’ve been having a problem in essays I write for school, and the way I speak to Somala or something about my life or how I’m feeling or something. And the problem is I don’t have the words to say it! I speak English, duh, but words like good and bad keep me from saying how I feel, or keep me from saying what I’m really trying to say. It’s a funky thought, because you think completely through language, but here’s an example of where my problem arises:
I get a pure thought, without any words
I think of the perfect words to associate with them
The words aren’t exactly what the pure thought was so I settle for uneffective words
I get lost in translation
The person I’m conveying the message to says, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
I’m having deja vu. Duh, I’ve blogged about this before.