how many hours of sleep is 3am - 10pm...? significantly more than any of you got. some people shake things off, but i find sleeping them off easier. in fact, if i didn't have a russian history paper due at 9am tomorrow, i would not have gotten up at all.
note: spinach omelettes(sp?) are not to be eaten cold. neither are fries. unless one is ravenously hungry and too lazy/out of it to walk to the basement to heat them up. which i am. both sort of remind me of the taste of ear wax, but i haven't eaten anything in 24 hours, and there's still no way i'm walking all the way to the basement looking and feeling like this.
looking back on it, IM is the devil. i consider my previous assertions that my breaking down and getting IM would somehow further contribute to my life's losing all direction and order 100% justified, and true. mind you, this does not mean that i will get rid of it - i'm much too addicted for that.
addictions are addicting. that's why we have so much trouble beating them. i hate being right. when will it be my turn to be proven wrong. i want to be wrong. prove me wrong. please.
so mary & adele & i went to jamboree yesterday. it was pretty fun. I slept through Local H and Our Lady Peace and Quarachi, and was wet and cold until The Strokes played at 4:30. their set was surreal. i'm not really a strokes fan, but i kept zoning out during their set, and falling into states of deep ponderance...and then suddenly 'waking up' and realizing things...and it would always seem like i'd been sitting there and thinking for ages, but they'd still be on the same song. and i'd still be just as torn and confused.
a piece of pizza cost $4.50. that is a lot. but not too much if one is starving.
i also saw Thursday and too much of Unwritten Law. not because i like either group, because i do not, but because they were playing on the same stage as dashboard, just many hours before, and adele and i wanted to be in the front row for dashboard, which we were. so, having to endure Unwritten Law (terrible) and Thursday (barely worthy of its own existance) was worth it, but only because Chris Carraba stage-dove over my head at the end of dashboard's set.
Chris is a tiny man, with a high, tiny voice. he reminds me of Elijah Wood. he even had his hair gelled up into a little mohawk. i do not believe that all the angst and hurt and pain and deception and hopelessness...and truth...in his music is his own. not anymore. Chris Carraba is fine. his memories have faded.
why measure memories by a clock that's blinking 8...? why 8? and which 8 - am or pm?
someday soon, i will write a brilliant manifesto of youth and deception, comprised entirely of dashboard lyrics. just because. because i will be the only one who understands what it means, or what it could have. if it weren't made of mangled dashboard lyrics. a reflection of someone else's torn and twisted feelings. and by brilliant, i mean naive and innocent and hopeful and silly. which i will not be.
kill a part of yourself. once it's dead, it can't hurt you anymore.
if you can kill it -
good luck.
the self is remarkably resistant to it's own destruction. not the whole self, which on the contrary enjoys watching you struggle against that which tears and tears, but parts of the self. they like hurting you, and you like being hurt. the hurt reminds the whole self that it is alive. and that hurt has a converse. if you are lucky enough to find it. and which you will prevent yourself from finding. but sometimes just believing that the converse exists for you is enough. sometimes. for the naive ones.
i am not as naive as i appear.
i am not as naive as i appear. i know exactly where i stand. i just let myself forget...sometimes. but i know where i stand. and i know what i am doing...to myself. the part and the whole. i have always known, but i will let myself remember differently. or not at all. the part is impossible to kill, but it can exist in silence.
and torture only itself
and those who choose to remember it.
the hurt i bring upon myself i bring upon myself with a clear understanding of what i am doing. not why, but at least what. never why...
why?
i don't know. that's what i thought about as The Strokes played...
...and the discussion comes full circle. without a conclusion, or a satisfactory compromise. as it will end.
^ crazy post #2, as promised. ^
note: spinach omelettes(sp?) are not to be eaten cold. neither are fries. unless one is ravenously hungry and too lazy/out of it to walk to the basement to heat them up. which i am. both sort of remind me of the taste of ear wax, but i haven't eaten anything in 24 hours, and there's still no way i'm walking all the way to the basement looking and feeling like this.
looking back on it, IM is the devil. i consider my previous assertions that my breaking down and getting IM would somehow further contribute to my life's losing all direction and order 100% justified, and true. mind you, this does not mean that i will get rid of it - i'm much too addicted for that.
addictions are addicting. that's why we have so much trouble beating them. i hate being right. when will it be my turn to be proven wrong. i want to be wrong. prove me wrong. please.
so mary & adele & i went to jamboree yesterday. it was pretty fun. I slept through Local H and Our Lady Peace and Quarachi, and was wet and cold until The Strokes played at 4:30. their set was surreal. i'm not really a strokes fan, but i kept zoning out during their set, and falling into states of deep ponderance...and then suddenly 'waking up' and realizing things...and it would always seem like i'd been sitting there and thinking for ages, but they'd still be on the same song. and i'd still be just as torn and confused.
a piece of pizza cost $4.50. that is a lot. but not too much if one is starving.
i also saw Thursday and too much of Unwritten Law. not because i like either group, because i do not, but because they were playing on the same stage as dashboard, just many hours before, and adele and i wanted to be in the front row for dashboard, which we were. so, having to endure Unwritten Law (terrible) and Thursday (barely worthy of its own existance) was worth it, but only because Chris Carraba stage-dove over my head at the end of dashboard's set.
Chris is a tiny man, with a high, tiny voice. he reminds me of Elijah Wood. he even had his hair gelled up into a little mohawk. i do not believe that all the angst and hurt and pain and deception and hopelessness...and truth...in his music is his own. not anymore. Chris Carraba is fine. his memories have faded.
why measure memories by a clock that's blinking 8...? why 8? and which 8 - am or pm?
someday soon, i will write a brilliant manifesto of youth and deception, comprised entirely of dashboard lyrics. just because. because i will be the only one who understands what it means, or what it could have. if it weren't made of mangled dashboard lyrics. a reflection of someone else's torn and twisted feelings. and by brilliant, i mean naive and innocent and hopeful and silly. which i will not be.
kill a part of yourself. once it's dead, it can't hurt you anymore.
if you can kill it -
good luck.
the self is remarkably resistant to it's own destruction. not the whole self, which on the contrary enjoys watching you struggle against that which tears and tears, but parts of the self. they like hurting you, and you like being hurt. the hurt reminds the whole self that it is alive. and that hurt has a converse. if you are lucky enough to find it. and which you will prevent yourself from finding. but sometimes just believing that the converse exists for you is enough. sometimes. for the naive ones.
i am not as naive as i appear.
i am not as naive as i appear. i know exactly where i stand. i just let myself forget...sometimes. but i know where i stand. and i know what i am doing...to myself. the part and the whole. i have always known, but i will let myself remember differently. or not at all. the part is impossible to kill, but it can exist in silence.
and torture only itself
and those who choose to remember it.
the hurt i bring upon myself i bring upon myself with a clear understanding of what i am doing. not why, but at least what. never why...
why?
i don't know. that's what i thought about as The Strokes played...
...and the discussion comes full circle. without a conclusion, or a satisfactory compromise. as it will end.
^ crazy post #2, as promised. ^
posted by Anne at
11:10 PM
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