• Top Secret

    Shhh. Don’t tell anyone but I’m eighteen and I don’t know anything about politics. I just… I’m sorry, I’m just not very interested. When I hear the candedites speak, granted that hasn’t been too often, it seems like vageuly elequent retorical hurrahs- not much information. And any information given is dispensed with the assumption that the audience is clued in. Maybe I’m the only one who notices because I’m the only one without a clue.  But forgive my ignorence, It’s just I have troubling seeing what a president does for a country when I don’t formostly live in one. I live in a state, in a city, in a community, on a college campus (One that happens to be holding the Vice Presedential debates). I don’t really watch much tv but the problems that Polititians often speak of, poverty, healthcare, debt, school safety, evironmental issues, are very well cared for by the local college groups and alumni. My Life is pretty cushy and I’m fairly sertain the president of the united states has very little to do with that. I know that there are many less fortunate than I but don’t people’s needs vary from community to community? I guess what I’m saying is that I find it very difficult to believe that one guy in the white house can really have a profound positive impact on the lives of millions. I think really the best thing he or she  could do is not screw our lives up. I like the canditate who looks like they will maintain peace with other countries, spend as little money as possible,and pass laws to further articulate the terms of safety and justice in an advancing soiciety. I really think there is little more that one could do in order to contribute to masses of people with very different needs. I take that back, I think the president would make a good supervisor and is need to shaporone  the other poloticians to make sure they are taking good care of their comminities…. Am I really supposed to vote for the person I think will screw up the least?

    Sorry if my ignorence has grossly offended anyone. I’m seriously very interested in any insight that might enlighten.


  • In love and war



    Not careless feuds weaved jaggedly through,

    But sadness entrapped by a differing view

    That could be love’s plight to surface- lodged by abrasions.

    Emotions rumble and pang under doubt’s hesitations.


    Standards and roles muddy his lens

    So I’m bound by ideals and these cultural trends.

    And asserting my wrongs seems wholly impure

    When it hurts to stand up for a self that’s unsure.

    But to not stand at all, just hurts even more


    Insecurities affirmed and I’m torn when insulted,

    Condemn or avow this self that resulted?

    Still I believe- as one small earthbound creature

    That bruises within are a man’s greatest feature


    A girl sullied in filth, a hell-fallen whore

    Who’s disgraced and defaced, loved never before

    Yes her heart is still fragile; her flesh soft to the touch

    She bears her burdens yet for you him it’s too much.

     He bites through her lips still Truth never dies

    The girl that man loves, is the one men despise

    And to similar greed she is victim as well

    Fending apathy cast by the cultural spell:

    No empathy due for a girl of that sort!

    -But she’s angry too and her temper’s as short

    Like her, his breed’s damned, unable to court:

    He’s the self centered man who judges for sport.


    Inflated egos plague this elitist male sex!

    Sorting reason from treason make this battle complex

    Impassionate touching; shivered unsanctioned truth

    For we hurt when exposing the scars of our youth


    We fight to be worthy; choices rightfully made

    We prove and we prove in concealed masquerade

    Being judged makes me riled, and its ironic defense

    Is condemn twice as hard on judgmental pretence


    If I beg to be studied then I must do the same

    For existence of tension will not yield to blame

    I will prod at your boundaries with privilege we share

    And you have license to mine-

     As in love all is fair


  • I miss turning on the TV and having to channel surf immediately from the New York 1 station.

    Still, all in all I realized I’m having a really good summer. School’s almost out and I’m this close to vacationing in my beloved NYC. But California wasn’t as bad as I expected. I spent most weekdays living in San Francisco hotels to be closer to school and hanging out with my one and only friend. He also happens to be my boyfriend and who wouldn’t want a private summer getaway in the city with their boyfriend? It’s a pretty nice life.

    The work wasn’t bad either. My Art looks better than ever, my blog is suffering a bit, but I’m still writing for a creative non-fiction course.


    Sorry, there’s always more to say. But I don’t have time quite yet. Just know I’m happy. And after four years of terrible high school summers, I’ve finally had a good one. Adolescence is really hard but it gets better- life becomes much less conflicting. People don’t have to feel like that for the rest of their lives.


  • I couldn’t go all of July without a single blog post!!

     I want to let my extensive following know that I’m doing really well. I’m writing, making art, and catching up on all the credits I withdrew from during first semester. I’ll have sophomore standing by the time I start school in August.   I’m working on some long term projects… hopefully… I just haven’t had tons of revelations I feel inclined to share.  I’m in a relationship now, but still few prolific words of wisdom. I have learned a lot, I think, about myself and my interpersonal skills. But I still have yet to articulate them fully. But here’s a taste of the post pubescent psycho Babel referred to in Charlie Bartlett:   Revealing and guarding yourself can be a tricky balancing act. And sometimes it’s beneficial to go with the more counter intuitive route. As much as I scream at the top of my lungs that me, in all my quirks and abrasive remarks, is worthy of affection. There are two people in a relationship. And if I expect a person to act counter intuitively, to listen and be open minded to ideas and experiences that he or she is not comfortable with, than shouldn’t I be willing to act counter-intuitively too?    


           I think a lot of entering relationships has to with proximity and the right set of circumstances. But as much as I would like to believe in uncensored expression- there is a malleable, but still present social standard. I think at some point everyone realizes that no one is quite the person they readily expose, but never the less what one chooses to expose says something about their true character. It’s complicated… I’ll try to figure it out later. Right now I have more work to do.


    Until next time

    Ahh... I just realized I have so many unfinished blogs to post.


  • Still attempting to be poetic

    Through Kinks


    My lips lightly pressing swelling clouds


    Soothing drums like rain drops my eyelids shut




    I never want to open them



    Emotions, moods, transition like fabric sheets


    Unfolded, Tossing, turning but finely threaded still



    Warm Skin, Wet Skin,


    Rigid, resilient, rough…


    Vivid breaths, colors, sounds, thoughts, -


    Consume every stone mile of us  



    Bones intertwined


    Hearts repel like northern magnet charge


    Devouring Depowering and harrowing


    Invisible to the naked thy



    I do forget that I can’t hide


    But you don’t stop




    Never mind



    Seize me in fists full of flesh


    And kiss me


     I’m close


  • “I’m not a rapper I’m an entity" and other random thoughts

    -John Brown (white rapper show)  


    Sometimes I find that limbo burns between fire and cotton smoke.  The texture soothes like plastic ocean shores or ripples in a waving flag.  If purgatory sits between than why is indifference hotter still? Eyes in an irrevocable dehydrated sting Inevitable upon approach  Yet there’s always time to sneak a squinted glimpse however it may burn  And there it is; not light nor smog but a moving liquid screen Whipping and smothering rapids in the air Why is it? and how can it be captured in description?  If she is nothing but an alteration to the atmosphere But a curious illusion with very little substance to speak of  


    My family likes to spoil

    Self sacrifice reigns

    Seeing others smile- knowing it was our doing

    It's How we feel alive, powerful, significant…   


    Is it so much to ask that someone care- not just go through the motions and say what they’re supposed to say and supposed to want so their rewarded with what their supposed to get. Is it so much to ask not to be treated like a variable in an equation to be evaluated and perhaps used for the final product. Why must I prove myself worthy can’t I be loved simply because I am lovable. Why are people so hesitant to wing it as if they really had a choice?     


    I think that the chemistry of emotional attachment is minuscule compared to the blown out Intellectual proportion. That when we think of how much we will miss any given object actually- we would deeply feel very little of its absence. When one values and explores their internal world- externalaties have but little impact. If we can accept that everything is transitory, ourselves included, and we can love at a distance aware of the inevitable goodbye. If we can stand strong and detach ourselves from the urge to cling and grope- we might realize that life is so much more enjoyable when we’re not afraid to lose it. I do understand the impulse to repel from uncertainty and the insecurity that risk provokes. But I do believe if we think there is another option we’re kidding ourselves and robbing ourselves of the natural experience-induced high.   


  • Why am I so out of it?? Part three: Realizing that it’s futile to speak of killing time

    I’ve been sick for about a month now and I’m pretty certain it’s from tripping. I won’t be specific because it’s irrelevant but I do, despite popular belief, consider this said chemical to be a hard drug. It is the cheapest, most accessible, most disregarded drug of our time but in my experience- fucks you up more unlike any other. Ironic, right? 


    It’s been a while since I’ve digressed into that culture and really it’s because I no longer care to seek it out. But my new ex-rehabilitated neighboring object of sexual tension did, and he had nothing but time. So with him I digressed. 


    After the enlightening Facebook conversation with the previously mentioned friend and victim, my new neighbor called and we met mid-campus in the rain. I was stilled embarrassed from relentlessly patronizing his life of chasing highs and I also wanted to tell him he could talk to me, he could be honest with me, I wanted to help him like I wanted someone to help my former self or prove that she could have been helped with a little effort. So we talked but instead of sober bonding we went on a little mind trip. 


    We tripped one day and we tripped another; the second time harder and more substantial all the while watching the first ever Land Before Time. I think he pointed to the grandpa brontosaurus and said “He’s G-d.” To which I responded “Yes that’s Karl Marx.”  I remember trying to stand and feeling that the acceleration of gravity had increased tremendously- my cheeks felt heavy. I remember walking, stomping shakily, one foot in front of the other in an exigent production… And I contemplated death watching the Christmas lights, thriftily decorating the wooden sublet floors, flickering like pearls of fire. 


    “Where is everybody?” My detached consciousness wondered. “There is no one here but us” it answered itself. But I felt the presence of others all around tenaciously protecting me from confronting akwardness, boredom, and the pointless inevitable dystopia of significantly altered states.     


    With the lights on- my vision was coated in pink-white noise. And without them graphic-novel blacks and whites conquered every form. And it wouldn’t go away. “When will this end?” I begged him. “I don’t know.” And then he said hesitantly “Hopefully soon.” We kids never like to admit when we find something elevated in status and deemed cool unpleasant, when we’ve had enough, or when we can’t take it anymore. To not bask in the coolness of cool is to not ourselves be cool and therefore most, especially those who spend their time treasure hunting for highs, would rather self-deceptively believe in their divinity. 


    “This is it.” I said to him. “This is what we’re doing now.” “Drugs are so stupid.”


    I realized I had just spent my night being fucked up- hallucinating as if plagued by mania, unable to process as if mentally inadequate, dizzy, delusional, and anxious, overcome in unfounded worry, moving like heavy liquidity- and begging for it to stop.  


    But low and behold- no off switch.    



    I had voluntarily swallowed insanity. A new state of being- yes, a break from reality- yes, but insanity none the less. I would surely not want to be stuck this way I noted as that very fear began to percolate inside. I much prefer the ease, the torment, the malaise, the exhilaration, and the anxiety of living- real living.  


    That being said- I did come to feel the validity of that realization while under the influence of drugs. Remember I have been in rehab, I have participated in and seen the hollow depths of anti-substance propaganda but never have I confronted the truth with such rigorous honesty before that night. 


    -Which leads me to believe there is something to be said for altering one’s perceptions; looking at oneself through the intoxicated mind’s eye drenched in world-shifting chemicals. There is something to be said for escaping natural tendencies, ways of thinking and short-circuiting one’s neurological wiring to the point where judgment does not have the dexterity to latch onto previously engrained biases. There is truth to be seen in a distorted mirror- especially if one’s mind has already distorted the greater culturally accepted facts of doing hard drugs. Perhaps a negative view compromised by a negative substance would have a positive result?    


    Do not misunderstand; I am not promoting drugs, I am merely presenting an effect of their consumption: What one chooses to think about is often very different form the options presented in waking life. And the persistent compulsions in which trains of thought are pursued are often untainted by previously accepted truths. It’s as if the breaks installed by societal norms are temporarily out of order. And whether that’s frightening, liberating, or hilarious in can open you up to a new way of seeing.      


    It had occurred to me before, that drugs were cool: Both because my peers told me so and because society, run by rich, tired, old, fat, sex-deprived, self-important white men, frowned upon them. It occurred to me that drugs where fun because Hollywood glamorized a culture of high-chasing gorgeous youths and because the anti-drug campaigns tried really hard to make the consequences look compelling- therefore one could only rationalize that the procurements were perhaps equally or more compelling. But without the dexterity of mind to summon these biases- I could honestly reflect on my inebriated experience while inebriated.  


    What I realized like an anvil on the brain was that I was ingesting temporary retardation paired with mania. Some symptoms I was experiencing are frighteningly parallel to symptoms that would come with a hybrid schizophrenia- Alzheimer’s. And while I think that gazing through the eyes of a Schizophrenic would be a life-changing learning experience I would not willing try to cause myself full-blown mental derangement too often.



    Furthermore, It is my belief that if there were more efforts made to expose the stupidity of drugs [the here give me 20 dollars for a mystery bag made of g-d-knows-what that will *** you up so bad you forget how to tie your shoes] rather than the compelling life-threatening dangers only a carefree badass would overlook- that counter culture would not be so quick to accept getting fucked up as cool. 


    To be continued (it’s too fucking hot to keep writing in this room- rrrr I could kill my father and his air-condition installing procrastination) …   


  • Trabajo Con Perros

    This will all be gone one day…


    Molecular structure


    Generated in Situ 


    In German it translates to wetlands


    Though it refers to nothing geological


    Even Planck time


    Most active enzyme need only be five amino acids long


    Existence is beautiful


    Is it not liberating to worship that in all its fortuitous glory?

     - Samantha L.




    p.s. Just got microsoft word- will post new writing soon

  • Pretty Certain I'm alive

    Although it doesn't feel like it. I'm such a mess. Trapped in California... Seriously, trapped!!! I live two miles from anything even remotely stimulating and I don't have a drivers license. RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRoar.

    No cigarettes!!! No Cigerettes!! No Cigerettes!! Have to take care of my health. Hardly a fix to speak of...

    Can't even write, have to wait for my Microsoft office to come... My 60 day trial expired.

    I'm going to burst out of my skin. So fucking angsty. Need a shower...

    Thanks for listening




  • Why am I so out of it?? Part two: I opt for excitement cautiously


    When I said goodbye to this mutual victim from college- I cried. That doesn’t happen to me often and I certainly wasn’t expecting it. I’m usually so ambivalent when it comes to goodbyes. For me, change doesn’t register until it has fully manifested itself, slapped me in the face and shook me from my disbelieving stupor.


    But if it was anybody who deserved my tears it was him. [G-d knows my other close friend from college provoked them often enough]. This was the guy who sat there with me and listened; Who never turned me away when I asked for his compassion; Who went out of his way to make sure I was alright. And you have no idea how fucked up our relationship got, how hormones and broken hearts complicated our bond, how radically different upbringings made our understandings clash, and how gender roles muddied our perspective. But he never gave up on “us”. He always made it clear that he valued me as a person, as a friend, and every other facet paled in comparison. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so loved or that I was completely ready to embrace and trust that kind of sincerity, especially from boy. But he was patient with me. He always listened and tried to ride with me on my trains of thought. Our conversations were deep and complex and he helped me to shed light on the errors in my thinking. Perhaps I did the same for him (although I don’t think he would ever admit to any). I tried to be there for him when he needed me and he expressed gratitude more than any friend I’ve ever had. But I can’t help but feel he’s given so much more to me than I have to him, even though with deep appreciation he tries to steer me from that conclusion.


    He’s amazing. A seemingly typical cynical macho college guy with a heart capable of the purest care I have ever known.



    That being said, I do often right off his advice as over-moralistic and unnecessarily safe. It’s not so much him as it is cognitive dissonance: At the end of the day I do what I want and my brain makes sure that I have at least a semi-sensible justification.   


    So I did see the boy from the bohemian love triangle. He called one night drunk and nearby and I was eager to share with him the recent online conversation with MVT. We sat on campus and smoked cigarettes- I think we were both afraid of the occurring interaction.  


    We got along so well- mostly. Until a week or so before I decided to be drunk and self centered and tell him exactly who I thought he was. I channeled my mentality when I was compulsively using and I described the criminal that I was, only attaching his name to my former qualities.  


    He knew; he called me on my bullshit the same way I called him on his. We knew. We know people and after countless experiences of watching ourselves and others in the midst of psychoanalysis- I think we realize that human motivation if often quite predictable. So he saw right through me but he didn’t quite understand why I chose to patronize him that night or where my anger came from. 


    Neither did I. 


    Yes I was angry at my former self, yes I was angry at the people who never tried to call me on my bullshit, yes I did wish to spare the other girl hurt that came from naively lending him trust he did not deserve. But what I later discovered after much self-reflection was that on a superficial level (which is actually deeper when it comes to interacting with bohemians as they’re used to discussing sobering truths but not so much the simple ones) I just wanted to interact with him. I wanted to spar, I wanted to play, I wanted to tease and to prove myself all without having to compromise my friendship with the other girl from the triangle. In fact, I may have managed to reinforce our friendship with my tactless condescending exposé.  


    Sounds manipulative, doesn’t it? It is. It’s disgustingly manipulative but know that I did believe my words. Know I did believe he didn’t value her best interest as much as he should have because of his adrenaline addict priorities. Know I did think that he was blatantly lying to her by making false promises and letting her believe every word. 


    It’s just one night I felt the drunken impulse to call him out in front of her, realizing only later how much it worked in my favor. And I think I felt confident that mine and his relationship could take the heat as it was based almost entirely on discussing ugly truths.  


    But I’m done with the honesty game- because that’s really all it is when it’s uncalled for. I think the three of us, to some extent, have adopted this philosophy not to say anything about a person that we wouldn’t say to a person. And I think sometimes we get caught up in the power struggle of proving our authenticity. He exposed her opinions of me both in and out of her presence. She exposed him. I exposed her. I exposed him. I knew she exposed me privately to him. And so I assumed he exposed me to her.  


    I don’t know why it was jarring to think that I couldn’t trust him with secrecy when I knew she couldn’t. Ok, that’s a lie I do. I wanted to believe our alliance was stronger but I also knew it was absurd and hypocritical to count on it. 


    Part of my anger at him was a reaction to that realization.   


    But he’s a good guy. Today I trust that his compassion for me is genuine and I think he knows I truly care about him: Whatever that means.  


    I enjoyed the time I spent with him so much and the history he chose to share with me. I enjoyed our platonic experience on drugs, intensely watching one man’s theory of religion. I enjoyed the next day half wittedly reminiscing about Thunder Cats and VR Troopers while I wore his only mildly roomy clothes. I enjoyed saying hello and goodbye to my closest friends and then leaning on his shoulder for support. I enjoyed wandering with him to Chipotle speaking and walking like crack heads (I wonder if he remembers that my eyebrows were unusually dark?). 


     I enjoyed the drama caused when the other girl jealously caught us hanging out and I technically had nothing to feel guilty about. I enjoyed it when she asked us what we’ve been up to. And he replied “O you know just waiting.” To which I chimed in with my best soprano “Waiting on the world to change.” And all three of us continued singing. 


     And most of all I enjoyed waiting for four hours with him, while she was in a meeting, in “our” abandoned soon-to-be demolished dormitory as we babysat the last of our belongings and reminded each other of the trippy events taking place: Seniors returning to vandalize their transitory freshmen home.   


    And when she came back and they interacted- I respectfully stepped aside. I realized I didn’t know him at all, at least not with the intimacy that she did. And I let myself finally confront the fact that maybe I was wrong. That maybe her feelings were of some consequence to him and that it would hurt to hurt her. They’re almost perfect strangers to me and their hearts aren’t familiar enough to mend. My mistrust of their intentions is a reflection of my skepticism and is not the absolute truth about their character; Although, I will not discount the validity of my observations and reflections. 


    The bottom line is you can understand basic psychology and have a good eye for unconscious motivation. You can project onto others every observed detail of your own nature and learn a tremendous about human nature in general. But to understand how a person works; the organic desires that haunt them and how they go about fulfillment is only a fraction of their humanity.  A person is yes, the desires they act on, but also the ones they’re to afraid of. A person is where they’ve been both a year ago and a decade ago. A person is their favorite childhood TV show and their current best friends. A person is their anger, their sadness, their shame, their hopes, their fears… the way they hug, the way they choose to wear their hair.  


    A person is what you see in them but more so, what they see in themselves.  Because we can never wholly see what another person sees; we are after all, solitary prisoners in our own minds. 


    Ironically this revelation occurred to me while under the influence which brings us back full circle, to the original topic for discussion: The hard hitting truth about drugs.  
    • To be continued…
  • Why am I so out of it?? Part one: When I can’t decide how to pass the time…

    Help me understand as I attempt to force the glimpses of revelation confined to note form into one coherent blog. I’m not my usual self right now and my thoughts cannot form without registering this trying unfamiliar fog. I could be sick, but with what is a question I’m not ready to asses. Instead I assume it’s a combination of exhaustion and withdrawal from leaving behind [however temporarily] my comfy college life and entering this pseudo home in the middle of fucking nowhere, California. 

    I’m light headed, I’m tired, and I’m hungry. It’s frustrating because it’s unlike me and this alien lethargy weighs heavy on the motivated mentality I’m trying desperately to gather. There is so much I want to get done. And where is the usual vigor that permits my seemingly speed induced productivity?

    It’s not just psychological. This is some sort of physical consequence resulting from the events of these past few weeks which I can only begin to describe by prefacing with analogous artful imprecision.

    “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way-in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.” – Charles Dickens

    This chapter in my life has been most enlightening and like this opening from ­A Tale of Two Cities (Which I have yet to read by the way), I have come to appreciate its graceful chiaroscuros. Ambiguity is what makes life poetic. Living in uncertainty- wanting to be good but craving to be bad- loving unsure of how far down your body that love extends- getting a selfish thrill at someone else’s expense knowing it will hurt but refusing to allow them undue empathy- Letting yourself have feelings for someone because they’re cute or you get along and you’d like to entertain the idea of not being alone- Knowing it’s nothing less selfish than that and accepting that you have control over what you choose to value- experiencing the power in non-attachment and learning that it’s just another repressive world-view one can get attached to- and finally realizing that the ability to relate is only half the battle; that a relationship is worth nothing unless you sanction the possibility of relating to each other. Anything else is just some fucked up form of sadomasochism to which I have often childishly fallen victim out of fear of many things, among them; dullness in life. But there is nothing dull about balancing vulnerability and composure and getting close to someone as they struggle to do the same.

    My life will always be melodramatic. I unconsciously/subconsciously/consciously make sure to keep it [or perhaps see it] that way. The world I’ve created within the light and walls of my perceptions is one I will spend my entire life depicting and insisting that what may seem ordinary is in fact a work of art. I’m like the not-so-anonymous, less conniving Gossip girl (speaking of melodrama- what a fantastically awful show) who insists her observations are news worthy only because they threaten to expose you. But I do not wish to be cruel- I only enjoy making sense of my conscience and emotions by deciding what values are self created, which are imposed and in turn which deserve my time and energy.  Hugh Hefner said something like “You only get one time around in this life and if you don’t make the most of it, you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

    For me, part of making the most out of life has come to include the consistently mentioned exploration of individuality but my maturing ideals now include a socially constructed method of success. I desire to be a hard-working student, yes out of the love of learning and the thrill of intellectual growth but I’d be lying if I said the ego boost and opportunities that come with good grades are not a motivating factor. This goal has risen up the value scale to at least priority two if not higher but a conflicting priority that will always rank somewhere near the top is; experience. It has always been in my nature to take advantage of every moments potential for adrenaline. I suppose that’s what still draws me to drugs.

    Because of society’s constant reminder of how disgraceful and illegal drugs are, drugs will always, if nothing else, pack the adrenaline punch of rebellion. [Breaken’ the law, Breaken’ the law…] I say “if nothing else” because quite frankly, sometimes drugs really suck. Sometimes they induce obsessive self deprecating thoughts, sometimes they are sickening, sometimes the symptoms of a high are out of sync which leads to paranoia as you ponder what chemicals might be added, sometimes the company at the time is unfamiliar and the situation becomes unforgivably awkward, and sometimes you realize that drugs do not alleviate boredom as they are not an activity and the only thing that has really altered your situation is an anxious refusal to sit and accept your lackluster circumstance.      

    However, because drugs carry such a disgraced stigma, because they are believed to be so substantial in their negative side-effects; they will always be the dare devils poison. If only they weren’t so anti-glorified and people would tune down the over drama and instead nonchalantly advocate the hard hitting truth about drugs; they’re kinda fucking stupid.

    I would never deny that in most cases they are counterproductive and a waste of precious time but I will be so bold as to ask what if a person has the time to waste?  What if someone, hypothetically speaking of course, has just finished there last final and is chilling on an empty college campus for a week, belongings all packed and sent home, waiting anxiously to see a favorite band’s concert. What if this person is stuck in love triangle of personal politics, secret alliances, power struggles, deep trust, mistrust, obsession, deception, disorder, disorders, empathy, attraction, philosophy, distraction, revelation, common ground, addictions, prescriptions, loneliness, competition and sexual tension? Is anyone else intrigued by the potential for adrenaline from this hypothetical melodramatic experience?

    [It was a dark and stormy night…]

    She and I were both similar kinds of crazy; he and I were both analytical observers of our post rehabilitated lives. She was his ex-girlfriend and the only one willing to save him from utter abandonment. He promised to conform to the hazy boundaries of loyalty she outlined, violating what he technically could but perhaps shouldn’t. It all depends on whether your moral scale weighs in favor of boy or girl, prodigy turned prodigal or the adviser turned adversary, self-serving or self-righteous?

     She believed in G-d, he believed in drugs, and I guess I believed in some of both. The story will be told with justice to its many facets one day but for now it’s important to know she was gone for that week. I was lonely and desperate for adventure but still apprehensive to borrow his company.

    Below is a conversation with a mutual friend of hers and mine who once ironically played a role in our tensions as well.

    The Hypothetical me: I want to see him but I’m scared to reduce myself to majoring in drug addiction  Mutual victim of tension: Haha well said  THM: I’m only one step ahead with a major in art- I can’t afford to stoop any lower  MVT: True- very true THM: But I relate to him- I wish I could help him  MVT: That’s not ur responsibility Clear Chat HistoryCouldn't retrieve chat history

    THM: i know... i just wish i could. She [being the third side of the triangle) is so naive... what is she doing??

     MVT: She’s being stupid THM: But he's not being cruel, he's just being pathetic, stepping on the people he cares about because MVT: very very stupid THM: she doesn't get ithe'll say anything as long as it gets him his drugs MVT: exactly THM: and he wants his drugs to forget...I sympathize with him because I see myself in himI sympathize with her because I see my friends and family in her
    MVT: u should talk to her? THM: I tried but she doesn't get it, she thinks it's something she can confront him about and it will go away... but it's who he is choosing to be right now
    MVT: ugh THM: it doesn't matterwe’ll all go our separate ways and it will all work itself out
    MVT: trueUntil then don’t involve yourself with him THM: yeah... i remember how terribly lonely it was then though... living from fix to fix... MVT: it must be terrible
    THM: I just wanted to be held... you know?? But instead I was yelled at, or lectured, or encouraged, or fucked up, or fucking...
    MVT: I’m sorryI’m sorry u didn’t get what u needed THM: it's ok, I was confused then and it’s hard to get what you need when you don't ask for it- in fact you do everything in your power to pretend you don't need ityour too tough for lovetoo strong for it or whatevertoo apathetic... maybe MVT: and thats why its so hard to get overcuz its the last thing u want but at the same time exactly what u want
    THM: Yeah- it's a fix- Drugs give you so much... a pursuit, a power, stimulation, an identity, a kind of anti-heroism, attention, a numbness... but you Only crave those things to fill the hole caused by the absence of love/friendship/compassion/companionship... whatever that you perceive MVT: so it’s basically a never ending, unbreakable cycle that just feeds on itself
    THM: until you somehow get it through ur head that your efforts to replace the loneliness is fruitless if using drugs and the company of drug users MVT: that must be hard to realize tho
    THM: yeah, especially because even when you do the loneliness doesn't go away... you have to learn to live with it while working for what you want
    MVT: oye THM: but usually your life is so far fucked it's hard to believe there is really a worthwhile alternativethat’s why most kids have to get sent away MVT: that makes sense THM: Anyway, I feel for him- that’s all MVT: I understand why u do THM: I want to save this conversation and give it to him, actually
    MVT: do itit might help himu have a lot of insight, obviously THM: yeah- but it's also entirely possible I'm projecting myself onto him... maybe his story is different... MVT: well yeah maybe... but i still feel like addiction has a lot of common ground THM: Yeah, I mean I don't think I'm wrong, but then again, I never think I'm wrong... MVT: hahai think ur right in this case tho THM: Well, even if, it would still help him to articulate the differences in his story and perhaps force him into self-reflection
    MVT: good pointself-reflection = good THM: Yeah... he knows how... maybe we can just talk in public with no drugs MVT: thats a good ideasober talking
    THM:you should come...yay!!
    MVT: haha id feel so awkward THM: so drink firsthahahaJust kidding MVT: hahah
    THM: its ok, i'll make it less awkward... I'm so good at that [wink wink]
    MVT: hmmm perhapsif nothing else im coming to at least see u tho
    THM: plus you should talk to him, he really is a chill guyI may enjoy his company more than I enjoy hersWhich is really fucked up MVT: haha no i know ive talked to him quite a few times... hes actually friendly and easy to get along with THM: It funny how he's just a kid, a good somewhat well socialized kid, just like the rest of us... he's just neurotically utilizing mind altering substances to feel what most people have to earn in life...I have to stop psychoanalyzing people
    MVT: haha u should become a psychiatrist THM: aahhhh... no... That’s too legit for me... I'm committed to my worthless major
    anyway... I read too much I like psycho Babel *** because it helps me understand myself, but I think really he's just procrastinating doing life and trying to feel as if has something worthwhile to pursue and care about
     MVT: ahha good point.. too legitoh yeahur right i think THM: wait, what was that... I didn't hear you. Did you say I was... MVT: hahah dont make me repeat itu get one and thats itCherish it THM: I feel like I've just been baptizedThank you Father MVT: hahahaanytime my child THM: I love you Hey, I think I'm getting better at interacting with boys without thinking about sex...  MVT: haha thats goodull get it eventually
    THM: Yeah... I mean... I've just been having really great conversations with different guys and I keep thinking like wow this is nice, I like talking to you without letting my mind wonder to whether or not he wants to do meIt's hard for me to have intellectual chemistry with a boy and not want to test the chemistry further MVT: That’s so good! THM: but I suppose I should let him do the testing if he wants to and just be like normal girls and take the interaction at face value MVT: yes exactlySamantha ur thinking like normal personi like it THM: No- I'm thinking like a girl standardized by gender roles MVT: haha shut up THM: hahait's true thoughI'm essentially saying it's abnormal for a girl to go after what she wantsand instead just surrender the ball to the male's court MVT: haha i guesss THM: yeah... MVT: ur a goof
    THM: Yes it is true...but would you have me any other way?? MVT: haha of course not
    THM: goodI love you too MVT: haha i love you? THM: Yesyesyou do MVT: yeash THM: typing is hard MVT: agreedwhy do they make the buttons so smallor keys or whatever they’re called THM: I don't know... To be fair to people with smaller hands? MVT: haha i guessbut wouldnt u thinkthey could make them smallerand then it’s fair to everyonethe smaller hands people would still be ok THM: Maybe they measured the average hands span and optimized the buttons to fit perfectly in the found leangth
    MVT: haha if they did then im ok with thatbut i bet they didn’tbastards THM: giggleI seriously just laughed out loudmy wordthis has been quite the experience
    MVT: hahah agreed THM: I think I'll call it a night... I still try to save this conversation though... Goodnight *Mutual Victim of Tension* MVT: haha ill most likely cya tomorrow goodnight *The hypothetical me* THM: *yawn* MVT: haha get some sleep foo THM: aye, aye captain- can't figure out how to save it though MVT: ah thats okitll live on in our hearts   To be continued…


  • I get so attached to my writing, even my emails, I really like learning about myself


    Yay!! So nice to talk to someone [who listens *cough* male mutual firend *cough*] about all these intricacies in life. It’s hard though, the brick wall is unavoidable. At the end of the day at least half of the reasons I believe what I believe is because this particular illusion pushes the right psychological buttons and puts me at ease. I know that most of my life/childhood has been spent wanting things to be true more than actually evaluating their validity. But this was the mind blowing year that jarred loose many of the repressions designed by my self-preserving developing mind.  The book helped me situate my angst ridden and freed intellect in what I believe to me a more accurate representation of Truth. That being that the symbolic world, the human agenda, and all the things we feel but can’t touch are in fact self-created. Still they are real because they are real to us. They are in some way the terms of the contract that binds us to our bodies in exchange for windows into the world. We are not floating souls and our urge to propel forward and our thirst for knowledge is beyond our control. I do believe though, as the book insinuates, that knowledge in it of itself is a pursuit, a distraction, a means of denying mortality the same way a child automatically fabricates himself in the belief systems imposed on him. The mind wants to feel stable, the mind wants to believe, and so it grounds itself in illusions that become a reality to it- to me. I guess I’m saying I believe my thoughts are just a bodily function to sustain my bodily needs which has come to include intellectual sustenance for the evolved human being. I suppose that does make faith a gap-filler, it makes pretty much everything a gap-filler, and I suppose that’s how I see life; a gap between birth and death. Still I look at myself from afar in a way, and see that I am week animal confined to my impulses, yet unlike other animals I face the torment of knowing that. I face the torment of knowing that my agenda is the whole world and at the same time an utter insignificance. I am everything in my internal world, my intellectually perceiving self sustaining real world, and next to nothing in my almost brush with objectivity. So when it comes to faith, I believe in the possibility of patterns existing above my comprehension- I believe in that possibility whole heartedly. At the same time I know psychologically why I believe it- why I choose to believe it- what solidity it gives me in waking life- and while I think that existing as a belief is not the same as existing, I don’t think that it can be called false or none- existent...

     Does that help clarify my beliefs or did I miss the point, I kind of ran away with my thoughts. Anyway I kind of want to be proven wrong just because this world view leaves me so unbelievably jaded sometimes.

    P.S. Schools over- will reflect on that later


  • Somebody tell me something worthwhile

    Please- anything

  • I’m getting all Emo again

    I have the chills. What am I doing… numbing… Mental breakdown- Mental breakdown- Hips- cold.

    I don’t why. I remember looking up at him.  

    But the kaleidoscope of phallic images was not what I thought I wanted.

    Dancing- jagged sharp steps counter-intuitively stylized- I will forever know to count the beat and ride the wave of intuition.

    What was I to him- for him?

    Definitions feel heavy and forced onto me

    The listless whore-

    moans thirsting for satiation like hunger pangs

    For the moments that enslave the parasite of pursuit   

    Cold to the touch

    Warming only to the brush of chemical euphoria

    Unloved by selfish beings that stomp clumsily over my selfish distress

     I Undress

    Just to be groped wildly

    Paws at my supple chest

    What am I?

    Decisions to be lost in the perfunctory music of automatica

    Who indifferently swallows the color blue

    Please G-d, be alive-

    I don’t want to be alone anymore


  • Listless again

    I’m pissed because I believed him when he said I didn’t get it- I believed him when he called me a filthy whore who couldn’t fathom a life of morals where hooking up for the sake of hooking up was blasphemy and self destructive- He made me believe that I lacked strength and willpower and that he refused to take advantage of my over generosity because he did not deserve it nor did I deserve the side effects of giving it away- But I get it now- He let himself love once before and he will never again drench himself in the blood of heartache- He wants to *** us as a collective, a faceless audience of hopeless soulless sluts and he doesn’t want to care about her and he doesn’t want her to care about him or believe that she has any right to. If she falls for him he wants to write her off as a crazy clingy *** within the boundaries that his chauvinist society will let him- He is always in the right until he crosses that line- And I care about him and he cares about me and if it’s all meaningless stimulus and you can wake up and not love with lust but love with deep compassion- then he has nothing left to live for. I represent a reality that he needs not to exist because it goes against the sin of being male as well as the sanctity of being Christian. What am I if not heaven, if not hell…

    Silly boy- I am the planet you inhabit.  

    I'm so sorry. I know your wonderful and kind and caring but why then do you complicate yourself with the person you never want to be? Is it because in secret you do or because you are and despreately don't want to be but can be where it is culturaly accepted and expected? Am I pissed because you are not th chauvinist that you pretend to be? Or because you are and excuse yourself by insisting its the male part you have to play?

    I believed you and I don't believe you anymore. I cannot tell you why and there is no way you would ever guess because its buried deep with in your hazy definition of self that you insist isn't self-created.

    But I do care about you. And I will let you live your lie even though if you could help it, you wouldn't let me live mine.


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