August 16, 2008 (VERY FIRST ENTRY)
This is gonna be my blog!
Hi guys! I have never officially blogged before except for a few stray posts on other networks which I deleted on my own whims. I have a job where a good part of it involves sifting and/or reading through some blogs/specific posts and I think it's kind of interesting. I do not know how other people could stumble upon this blog. If you do, please post, it would be very cool! I might even post on your blog! I guess this is how the blogosphere works. I feel like a real journalist. An e-journalist. Actually, I kind of feel like a douchebag for using such a trite writing style, like an excited middle-schooler. Oh well, I am kind of excited.
I do not use myspace or facebook much anymore mostly because I don't have many friends. However, the friends that I do have like me for who I am and find me interesting. I have trouble finding new friends because I have brushed off many people in the past because I was simply too bothered by my own demons and too angsty to relate to them. I have also been very introspective and isolated. I am in a transitional phase of my life and will soon probably meet more people. I am slightly motivated, and that is enough.
Thank you for reading.
February 24, 2009
When a man cries
A few days I was sitting outside of a coffee shop with my friend C, while we were waiting for O to arrive. C has major familial problems; he's a foster child who has a fuckup for a sister, who together have been abused by previous, biological parents who are no longer seen, and his dad (the man that he lives with) probably loves his real son more than he loves him. C's dad is also bipolar, and a complete asshole, but there are rare moments when some love sticks its fingers through the bars.
Anyway, he made me think a lot about my dad. My dad, who's been doing work far below his skill level for twenty-seven years, and since he lost that job a year and a half ago, has been working a job that's even crappier. He assumes because there is paper, mail, and e-mail involved that it's white collar but it's not. But the point is, he's not a very materialistic guy. And I think he purposely didn't choose to advance his career, because one time he said, "all I wanted was to have a house, a wife, and a son. and I did."
and I respect that, even though the house has recently lost 30% of its value and requires my dad to take out his pension payments early to pay it off, and that my mother divorced him, quickly remarried, and died from breast cancer within 2 years (in 2006).
i had to excuse myself, walk around the block, sit against some brick wall connected to a panda express and a major street and let the choking in my throat commence. i tried to cry but couldn't. but some tears came out. a woman walked by and stopped and said "are you okay? do you need money" in a slight Russian accent. She was holding wrapped presents and wore shiny earrings.
I tried to respond but it was hard but eventually said "y-yes i was just thinking about my dad"
and she went on about how we can't all have perfect lives and have to deal with what we've got, even though she didn't understand why I was letting go of some saltwater.
I wasn't sad, I don't think. I was just appreciative, of all my dad's done for me. I love him but don't know how I can really communicate it to him like that. I ended up telling him just that, later in the evening but it was not emotional in the slightest, just like saying please or thank you
February 27, 2009
I don't even know if or what or how I should tell my coworkers. I would only tell one or two people max if they wonder why I'm so fucking stressed out. I don't want people to pity me. If I tell people that my house was robbed and that I lost a lot of my major electronics, they'll judge me. They'll assume, oh, he probably lives in a crappy neighborhood. And why? Probably because his family is poor. You see...I wish it wasn't this way, but this is how people think, whether they like it or not, and whether they choose to or not, its just the way we think
March 3, 2009
here's how I cope with community college lately. 0.25/0.3mg Xanax (it's hard to split the pill into quarters) and a large coffee. it works decently for better or for worse, but it's still the little things in life that bring me down.
the fact that I have to carry around a big book all day in one hand because my car is too long a walk away to make it worthwhile
the fact that it's so cold in my house in the morning that I wear my thicker jacket, and it gets intensely warm (or I perceive it that way) so i either carry it around too, or just wear it and get sweaty.
the xanax makes me a little bit confused sometimes too. like this morning I deduced that the coffee from the machine was cheaper than from the cafe, but there are no lids. I sneak beverages into the library all the time but i don't feel comfortable doing it when it doesn't have a lid. so I walked past the library toward the cafe to see if I can get a lid. halfway through I find myself stuck, put down the drink, look to the sky and think "what the fuck am I doing?" I go get the lid, return to the library, content but not quite content, but the deed is done. I think my priorities are screwed up.
April 7, 2009
this morning
My poor cat's got something wrong with her eye,
she's squinting a lot cause there might be something wrong with her eye.
And there was cat urine on my comforter, after all the blood tests and
diagnostics, it turns out the issues were ultimately behavioral
The smell is foul and offensive to the nostrils,
pungent and crude, i put aside and away the toxified blanket
Discovered some mold under the kitchen sink that might be making me sick
my stomach's churning and all soured up
ate some healthy foods hoping it'd improve my attitude
but my morale is muy mal and thoughts in my head have driven me up a wall
out of my house, out of my house, i'm at the library but my study time is up
April 21, 2009
should could would volunteer over the summer. if not travel. but i want to make money...or do i? what about psychic income? what about getting more writing material? that might be a better use of my time.
I could work with the elderly and steal their drugs and listen to their stories. Maybe i could teach english in some foreign country. Do I want to do that? Possibly. Need a job. Summer classes would get in the way of that. Helping old jewish people. helping old mexican people. old black people. old german people. Something to get me out of the house.
May 1, 2009
want
Today was April 30th. I came to a scary conclusion today through a day of turmoil and confusion - I don't know what I want. For some reason I feel the need to distance myself from the few friends I actually have. C is boring me, O seems to be losing himself in his own vices, and R is just there. Everyone says I'm expecting too much when we hang out, but I've put so much time into it. I did some really decent writing while sitting on a rock coming up on mushrooms, but it was fleeting, and the day was downhill from that point. I need to cherish my father, because he's all I really fucking have, or so it feels like. He sacrifices so much, and he actually has a plan. One big thing he has that I don't is a goal and a plan for once. He has a plan to self-actualize.
I got so "stuck" today with C. I felt like he was being belligerent, and he accused me of being paranoid, and I stopped listening to him and played with sand and looked at plants in a newfound glory but it was also fleeting because after we got off those rocks and he took off his shirt i knew I was having a bad trip, because I was stuck with HIM. There was nothing I could do, no way to express myself without hurting his feelings and making him wonder why, why am I being left behind. For someone accusing me of having no balls because sports don't interest me, he really has attachment issues. But he was neglected and abused as a child, and I should feel bad for him and help him. Sigh.
Another thing I learned today is that I really don't know anything. Sometimes things work and other things don't. I know that sounds vague but when things work out, I don't even know if it was my efforts that made it be or my lack of efforts. Like there is no way for me to choose an inclination other than what feels natural. But of course, the natural one is to push myself away from problems and uncomfortable scenarios. But the discomfort is good, right? It builds character, it makes you grow! Right? But at a certain future time I'll have to do what feels right to find my way and realize that whenever anything I chose to do on my own accord didn't feel right I was only doing it for the sake of self-improvement and broadening my horizons. Why is life so complicated for me? All I'm supposed to do is go to school, work a job, hang out with friends to shoot the shit and not go crazy, and maybe invest in a hobby, and go to sleep and wake up and repeat the cycle. There is so much emotional bullshit.
May 7, 2009
am I frustrated because I doubt myself? or do I doubt myself because I am frustrated? I told my mentor when I saw him on a rare, random occasion: "I write...just journals and stuff mostly, but I want to write some fiction." He says okay good. I say "But creating characters and whatnot, seems so difficult. I can't write about anyone besides myself. I don't understand other people's inclinations, motivations, or what makes THEM THEM. I only know mine...to some extent." He says...then write about yourself.
i probably don't even need any new experiences to find material, i have enough in my life, strangely enough. but I feel like I perceive things so differently, and not different enough to be entertaining or enthralling to any other reader, just in a weird "you're overthinking" kind of way. some of it is so ashamedly stupid i can't even get it written down here. like...I had to leave a friend's house to get home at a certain time. C wanted a ride, I said sure fine whatever (like I have a choice...but don't blast me for being a dick, i just hate driving my car even though everyone else would die for one...its a long weird issue i have trouble explaining even to myself) and he brought it up once or twice, "Marcus, shouldn't you be leaving soon? it's 5:45!" i was annoyed, concentrating on a board game with someone else I joked, put him on blast, said sarcastically, "Thanks mom" and everyone laughed at his expense. Oh C...so serious C. Tries to see everything in black and white.
Well anyway I ended up leaving a bit later than I wanted to, was pressed for time, and ended up dropping him off at the bus stop. He assured me it was "fine" but I knew he was pissed off a bit because he wanted to go home because he was tired or hungry or some menial issue of the flesh. But I think he might have been a bit proud of me for not being coerced by his will. I did him a favor that very morning that might have saved him his job anyway.
May 7, 2009
leaving
Without revealing too much, I will most likely leave the city and state for a while later this year, for something that will most likely better me as a person, though it will most likely be costly, i think it will most likely pay off in the end.
Worried about my old man. He is trying to work his crappy job part-time so that he can attend classes for a graduate degree in the fall. He is determined but it will just leave him poorer. Going to classes will make him happier though, so that's psychic income gained. I worry about what might happen to the Kingdom if I am gone. I would talk to him at least once a week while I'm gone to listen to his stories and they will probably be melancholy at best until he finishes or finds a better job.
There are so many things, it feels like, that stupefy him about the inner workings of the Kingdom that I worry about how he will/would/should manage without me. But he is older and wiser right? Yes, but this is the man that taught me to read, much earlier than the other students, but after that, left me to read about everything he didn't know about and couldn't teach me. At the end of the day, if I didn't know, then he didn't know. Unless it was about a very specific art that had no merit in the hustle and bustle of everyday life in suburban society, except for the specific place where this specific art was created or performed.
Before, I was bitter, and I thought cruel things of him. "How could he be so stupid?! He knows nothing! I can't learn anything from him, and the more time I spend with him, the more I will become like him - and deteriorate until I am but a couch potato before dusk, and a lonely drunk reader at night."
May 15, 2009
health
mornings haven't been too bad, nothing I can't solve with a little taste of albuterol. Still waiting to see if I'll be accepted by the system. I committed fraud and wanted to tell the world, because i felt so bad about it, but rethought that thought and will just say that here. I forged a 1040 so that I'll be....hopefully granted access into this program from the county because I can't afford traditional health insurance. Well, I guess I COULD pay for it, but I'm tired of being denied and screwed over by what i KNOW i NEED. i know, it's messed up and I can't justify it. eventually I will get some sort of standard health insurance/health care plan but there are too many fucking choices, and I've been screwed over by these companies so many times in the past, and I know that with my godawful luck the expensive drugs I need will not be covered, and that i'll be in debt once again, just doing things out of good inclination, going badly once agani.
i'm poor, and can't ask my father for anything. My father's income is artificially inflated. He doesn't really make that much. He withdraws his pension payments early so that he can pay his mortgage bill at the end of the month, and then pays huge taxes on those pension payments. it's a terrible system and screws the poor without thought of the outcome. I don't see how he could have been surprised paying taxes, high taxes on that action. I don't know. But I do know that this sounds whiny, but it's true, this is the one department in my country and in my life where it just doesn't work, and I just have to do something different. please don't judge me for this, i couldn't tell anyone the whole story of how I feel about it if I wanted to.
but I do know that people might think I am a scumbag for attempting to cheat a system. Haflway through the ordeal I realized that it would be a bad idea, but what I heard from a health practitioner there made it all too real for me and I couldn't resist. I thought of backing out halfway, I thought of claiming, I'm sorry, these forms are illegitimate, take me out of the system, forgive me, there is a problem with the documents.
But I couldn't. It would have made a scene and I was sure it would have made bigger problems. I'm just going to ride on my past gregariousness, i will be bound by the choices that I made under pressure. I know that what I did will be looked down upon, and the people that would look down on me would not consider how i felt myself upon doing it. but I haven't even GOT anything out of it yet. They DENIED me the medication that I plainly needed until my next appointment, a good two weeks from when I first went it. it's not the kind of medical care that will save someone's life. The doctor, for whom English was plainly a second language gave me contradictory advice from a clinician I had seen prior. it's very disheartening, but at least, with care, i can force myself through all the bad i feel in my body. all the congestion, constriction, coughing, running, wheezing just thrusts itself into a malaise that i'm used to. it's nothing new to have to fight to breath or use an inhaler more than I should. it's known, and i'm only afraid of the unknown
November 22, 2009
So bizarre the world we live in. We had sex, and I lost the V card. She doesn't know yet. Yep. Played it like a natural. I've had so many experiences granting me inch and inch but this time I just stole the whole nine yards, and I'd do it again and again. But I gotta say, the intercourse really wasn't the best part. I mean, it was good, but with a condom at all I definitely couldn't ejaculate with that sheath on. Which is good in a way, for her, I mean she came twice. So hot and I wasn't even aware of it at the time, only in retrospect. I'll come back to this, it's what's driving me mad. The best part was after she went to clean herself up, the mess I made on her that she loved so much (she seemed to love everything I did, like it was unreal) and wore my blanket like a robe and i held the ends and draped it around us, both of us naked and our bodies just touching, and the feel of her hair and her bush and her tummy and breasts against mine and her butt as she slept, so cute. I couldn't sleep and got up, pulled my arm out from under her, went pee, ate something, tried to get back to sleep but it wasn't working, got up again to lock the door before G opened up, didn't want to make him uncomfortable.
But now I'm just lost. During the affair it felt so normal and right but now in retrospect it was anything but, it was heaven and a dream and so lovely...lovely that's her title on my phone, and she knows about it, I'm gonna call in the evening, if she says I can't come by I left or am about to leave I hope I can stop myself from sounding clingy, I'll just try to say, "Aww...that's too bad! But we'll see each other again before you know it!" with a positive spin. I dunno, maybe just the first part. I should call Helen.
I had such a bounce in my step walking around the mall the other day. Not the uncomfortable skin I'm so used to. In the library now, can't stop looking at other pretty girls, it's never gonna end. I quelled the interest but the interest is never gonna die. But I can't wait to see this girl again, and I can't hide that but it's making me feel so weird today. And yesterday, disappointed, and it was showing and I couldn't help but talk about it with Nik and B and share my interest. Heard some weird stories about girl but don't care. Hungry and derailed, weary-eyed, music isn't helping, i need more, more stuff. Beer and weed don't help either. Ugh. Now I know what all those fucking songs were speaking of.
November 29, 2009
we;ll due to a strange turn of events ive developed a minor psychological problem within my brain like a chemical imagbalance where i may shift from a minor mania, like well tis cvalled a hypomania like a minor manic state and also shift to a minor depression too however this has hade a major impact on my philosophy in life
and i have held it to be true to this day where i believe
in a special, particular kind of balance, not like karma, where you create the happenings, but the happenings that occur upon you work in a sort of give or take system whereas
whence upon a positive, perhaps even ecstatically joyful event mayhaps occur give or take a depressing blunder upon the next day but the powers seem to find a way to balance out in the vice-versa, i should say, whereas the converse holds true - should i be bestowed a negative haze, either in affect or fortune the ball will eventually bounce back toward the opposing field
December 6, 2009
The Chive Farmer's son helps his father with the family chive-farming business but he wants "a bigger piece of the pie". His father is conservative and tells him, "son, your grandpa tried to do that once but I steered him back. this is what we've been doing for so long and we do it the best. it is our family's calling and i expect your support."
son goes behind father's back and attempts to grow another cash crop, Opium. He is successful and tells his father they are a type of Afghani Onion and father believes him. However there are kids from town who hear about the poppies and one night, they milk them all, and it is obvious because they are covered in slits. The father sees this the next night, thinks its vandalism and calls the police. Unfortunately, they are on the son's side of the property, and when the cops investigate they send the son to jail for growing opium poppies.
Jan 4, 2010
no i haven't, says the dad, but let me remind you again, don't you do anything with her until we find out what's really going on with her. (instructional) what would your friends think if they found out you were messing around with one of your relatives! [accusational]
we haven't messed around and we're not going to! [defense] and who would you be to talk if i made such a mistake? would my own father talk about my engagements?
i saw the way you guys were laughing about the sounds the printer was making. its lovers who are most likely to chatter about the most nonsensical things. it allows them an opening out of nothing. that's how it was when i met your mother. (factoid?) we were cracking up about the way the dog walked around with wet paws. iit was effortless. but its only the littlest things that people who are in love would comment on. (nostalgic) or maybe people who are drinking or
Jan 7, 2010 (I showed this to my neighbors and they said it sucked but i adore it)
marta
- What are you doing?
- Hey, stop, it's not ready yet.
- Why?
- Come on, don't hover over my shoulder
I just want it to be perfect. A brilliant teal shimmer of the waters below struck through the reams of the bridge where the air and light of the day seeped through. He raked a hand through his hair and let a sigh. Patterns of flowers bloomed on the ceiling and walls - covered with old cloth and tarp, with reds magentas and lavenders on a seat of yellow felt sky. She asked Bethany who she really admired. I think Tim's acceptable, she said. I wonder what his dick is like. She laughs haughtily. I don't know though, when it really comes down to it I'm afraid. I'm afraid of being naked around him.
Beth, you can't let your personal fears about yourself permeate unto others! Just because you take your showers quick and they're eventful isn't a reason to make someone else uncomfortable! You're going to do it, and you're going to like it. Just put a blanket over yourself, keep it dark.
I don't know. I don't know - it might be cold or icy or something.
Beth - you have no idea. Once you start making out and rubbing each other, you'll be all hot and warm and it's nice.
Beth starts to get up and adjusts her skirt.
Hey, I'm not done yet!
OK fine.
Beth just, just have him over and talk.
About what? It'll just be awkward.
No no! It's only awkward if you make it, if you want it awkward. Just think...sexy. And cool, it'll be alright. Doesn't the idea of being naked with another boy send those tingles down your spine?
Maybe. Sometimes. But if i'm feeling uncomfortable about myself...it just won't feel right.
Well, how can you make it feel right? What do you need, some candles or something? Come on. It's just in your head. Have a drink. Shit.
Marta, i'm just. I'm just not like you. you could do this whenever you want, i need help.
Marta grabbed two soft hands and looked into Beth's hazel eyes. I'm here for you. If I wasn't your friend or didn't like you i wouldn't take the time to help you. i want you to have this experience with this boy because i know you'll like it. You just have to be ready.
OK. Thanks. I'm glad you're here. Thanks, OK? Marta gently holds Beth by her shoulders. She's leaning back but is rocked forward by her hips and Marta's touch. Marta's nose twitches for a second and her eyelids flutter. Beth sighs.
What's wrong anyway, Marta says. I just want you to have fun.
Beth whispers and looks at her shoes. She inhales through her nose and whispers i know Marta. Marta slowly drifts her white hands up Beth's neck and holds her. Beth looks down and breathes softly. Marta leans forward and Beth matches her gaze. Marta smiles and engages Beth's pink lips and she shudders.
Marta...
Another kiss.
Hm ?
It's just been so long...since I've had this.
...
...I know
Their eyes meet and their lips follow. Marta cranes her neck to the side and runs a hand through her hair.
Jan 8, 2010
Did you ever know a snippet of knowledge about Dr. Wicked? He's the long lost half brother of Dr. Horrible, actually. He's been working on a concoction of the most wicked things he can find. He's got a pot on a high fire brewing, stirring, cooking, looking, yearning, leaning over, smelling the fumes of diapers with broken velcro and stitches where the pooh and pee seeps out, the pill bottles mislabled as something else and you have no idea what you're taking, the Nexium mislabeled as Hydrocodone to the pharmacist's chagrin...or rather the patient's, the iPhone plug that won't accept non-Apple earbuds, the books with edges crinklecut so it's hard to flip thorugh them, the paper with the marginholes that are not reinforced and are so easily ripped out of binders, the french fries that are too salty and taste too salty, and yet you yearn fro the salt flavor so you keep eating them anyway in a cognitive dissonance-like fashion like cigarettes tht are so bad for you one would have to be insane to smoke, the lizard tails and skink tails that are cut off or even fall off in the burning eyes of a predator that regrow (why can't we harness this technology for humans? perhaps because tails are so simple) the keyboards that have the big groove in the middle that are more comfrotable at first yet are difficult to adjust for, people that hav trackballs set up on their computers for doing mouse-intensive music (my firend danny was working with FLStudio with a fucking trackball) the zippers that are meant to be attached backwards, but it's hard to tell, but they just don't weave, or stick together, the butter that melts on the countertop during the cooking process, so once it is chilled again its unable to hold its block form and becomes a grody amalgamation of milk and fat OH NO keep writing. the top buttons on your dress shirts, the stylish kind with the nice cut that are so tough to button you are faced with the conundrum of buttoning harder in minding that it might actually come off, or to give up and not button it and use that to yoru advantage in utilizing a new style, im sure you could make it work if you're alread buying nice fitted dress shirts like me, nd the backpacks that hang too low, and the messenger bags that flap against your body as you mingle arond with them in your flat feet (which prevented you from learning how to rollerskate you were the only one of our friends who couldn't nail it, but we are good enough friends that we showed you how, even though it only helped a little, it might take subsequent trips to really hrness the ability i promise to take you back on two dollar skate night wednesdays but i'll be wearing the rollerblades because they are easier, i cant evne wear those skates they feel like little ksateboards under my feet and the ground is slipping away from me, you gotta hold your feet sticking out diaganollly like this, angeled, sticking out, if they're sticking straight ahed you will fall, now lean forward just bit, yeah bend your knees and hahaha okay looking better now stand up straight get up and just you well skate on one skate at a time, yo push off with the other foot, yeh i know, but try it more, one foot at a time
April 19, 2010
i feel like i have to keep a dual front. one side of indifference, to keep her coming back. the other - my own personal insecurities, spawning from my past blunders with the opposite sex, my deprived cock over the years, and ebb and flow of self-worth - these tumble out, and when they do, i pull her to me closer. maybe i need more time to accept these things. she likes me for who i am.
May 18, 2010
My how the patriarch has fallen.
There will be a funeral on friday, at 11:00AM
I will have to bring my clothes and things, and maybe some books.
I need to tell Rob. Also, my paper currently sucks, and...why did I do a bad job again?
I would get caught up in small parts, and research something which would turn out to be useless.
I find it so hard to stay on track, I keep getting caught up wasting time in reading all these articles which turn out to do NOTHING for my paper, and then think, oh I should read more of the stalin book, and find something, write it down. and find myself unable to capture the main idea. and have to revise my thesis.
now the idea of seeing my relatives again is making me nauseous. at least i can drink.
I also have to do laundry. I fucking hate laundry. I have no socks. I'm going to steal some of grandpa's socks. I want to help out with the transition, liquidate the goods.
December 11, 2010
I sat in the car and watched the scenery and was overcome with an odd euphoria throughout my body, and I felt myself pulled into a perpetual daydream, my eyes half closed like a streetsquatter in a nod. I relived painful moments of being 14 again. The guys Vince and Raptor and Manny teased me, pulled me around with them, called me an awful nickname I wish not to repeat, but it was somewhat therapeutic to realize I'd come this far. I sat at a starbucks table trying to stare through it and pour my vision onto my shoelaces but it wouldn't work. Raptor called out to manny, a tall, long-haired pot dealer with glasses who looked lik he could hold an office job. "Hey Manny, isn't it true? Once a bitch, always a bitch?" His eyes reminded me of a sociopath as he glared at me, asking his friend for approval. I don't remember what Manny said, he wasn't that bad a guy to me, but the others were.
Jan 30, 2011:
I want to do more drugs. I wish I could find some opiates, some hydrocodone, oh that would be splendid, laying here, eating some ice cream, gazing at Dostoevsky's writing and...well, provided I could still follow the novel, it would be nice. In the past I had taken too much and I would just vegetate in front of my computer listening to ambient music and wasting my high time in front of mindless internet forums with stupid people arguing about how stupid the other person was.
Oh dear. What am I going to do with my life? My slightly older cousin will soon finish his business degree. My uncle, the Canadian capitalist, strongly believes his son will find a job in their Candadian economy in 5 minutes, starting between forty and sixty thousand Canadian dollars a year. After speaking to my mentor about this, the frailties in my uncle's comparison between my and my slightly older Canadian cousin became clear: If I pursued a degree in business, I would want to kill myself! -in a miserable fury, a kind of fury that lurks in the back of your mind, and writhes more as you age and fail to appease the objectives you set out to complete years ago. That sort of fury that triggers quarter and mid-life crises! I may be less attractive than my Canadian cousin, and while I could never muster the votes for my branded self to be Student Body President (of XXX private Christian college {UGH! GAG!}), I am a far more interesting person, with my struggles, my battles, my anguish, my old poverty, my rage, my highs, my ecstasies, elements he will never know! I am special! Listen to me! Hire me! Also, he'll have to work in offices! I have learned, in my work and experience, that offices are the bane of consciousness! The classroom, the studio, the library, the lecture hall, the streets, the outdoors, the kitchen and the bedroom are where things of importance spawn!
Oh dear. What am I going to do with my life? My slightly older cousin will soon finish his business degree. My uncle, the Canadian capitalist, strongly believes his son will find a job in their Candadian economy in 5 minutes, starting between forty and sixty thousand Canadian dollars a year. After speaking to my mentor about this, the frailties in my uncle's comparison between my and my slightly older Canadian cousin became clear: If I pursued a degree in business, I would want to kill myself! -in a miserable fury, a kind of fury that lurks in the back of your mind, and writhes more as you age and fail to appease the objectives you set out to complete years ago. That sort of fury that triggers quarter and mid-life crises! I may be less attractive than my Canadian cousin, and while I could never muster the votes for my branded self to be Student Body President (of XXX private Christian college {UGH! GAG!}), I am a far more interesting person, with my struggles, my battles, my anguish, my old poverty, my rage, my highs, my ecstasies, elements he will never know! I am special! Listen to me! Hire me! Also, he'll have to work in offices! I have learned, in my work and experience, that offices are the bane of consciousness! The classroom, the studio, the library, the lecture hall, the streets, the outdoors, the kitchen and the bedroom are where things of importance spawn!
Jan 30, 2011:
Trying to read Dostoevsky but I keep getting distracted so I'll write my notes from above ground in my bourgeois universe here. Fell asleep to the looping DVD menu music from Speed. Woke up hungover in a sleeping bag in my friend's now furnished apartment. Drove my car half a mile so I wouldn't have to walk across campus to the library. Emailed the principal of the local middle school again, asking that if he hadn't chosen his math/reading tutors yet - he should choose me because I'm experienced at tutoring my peers, have a passion for learning and education and want to (try) sharing it with my community for $12 an hour if I'm lucky, and that I enjoy the presence of children. Only one of those claims is true. Sold 3 shares of some winning ETF in my Roth IRA. I want to call the brokerage and see if I can transfer some of that money to my individual account (which is empty) so I can put some riskier stocks in there. That stock is ONVI, if you're curious. The last time I tried doing that was with WAMU and my coworkers laughed at me when they went bankrupt. Only lost $50. Maybe I'll playing the market on Scottrade the same way Dostoevsky played cards during his 10 year prison sentence. If you wish to quantify it, perhaps I'll do better since I'm half his age when he wrote Notes, it's only a quarter as cold in my city than in Siberia, and although since I've only suffered a sixteenth of what he's endured, my writing will only end up a twohundred-fiftysixth in quality. I wish my school offered some sort of pre-Soviet GULAG literary enhancement program.
"...the most intense pleasures occur in despair, especially when you're very acutely aware of the hopelessness of your own predicament."
Feb 10, 2011:
Ugh, I'm so dumb for not CCing bossman in this email to Oktay. There should not be any errors in the shipping process on the front end at this point. It is ridiculous, and absurd that he is too busy to not respond within a reasonable 24 hours. And those messages I have sent about image uploading on Tuesday, I haven't heard a thing! Does he think this project is not important anymore? Does he think its petty, and less lucrative than the stuff he does for our company? Well, it is less important, but still, it's his duty to fix his bugs! Shit, I just realized my girlfriend's period blood is hanging on my cuticles. Sweet.
Feb 14, 2011:
pointlessness
"I can't believe I just remembered it was Valentine's day!" shouted a marketing lady to the few that had been sitting at their desks, or getting ready to, at about 8:00 AM.
"Yep, it is..." I said to my computer screen.
"I had to get valentines and chocolates for Max's class party..."
I'm glad I don't have kids.
"...and drive him to school early this morning!"
I'm so glad I don't have kids.
Ugh I don't want to be here but I guess it's better than the salt mines.
"Anyone want coffee, I'm making coffee," shouted our bossman to the busy office.
"There's no creamer..." V chipped in from her support desk.
"Yeah, there's no creamer!" said the marketing lady.
Feb 21, 2011:
Mid 2004 - Spend a lot of time on internet forum and playing internet games with internet friends. Look at pictures of naked women. Make dick jokes with anonymous fools. Play a lot of WarCraft III. Feel closer to friends on the internet than any of my classmates.
Mid 2004 - Realize my parents aren't getting along so well. Realize they are in debt.
Fall 2004 - Second year in high school. Anxious, but have friends. Not the best circle, but beats being a loner. Get bullied by a hardass group. This year sucks a lot more than the first year. Good friends leave or get kicked out. Try to spend time by myself a lot, but can't free myself from horrible people.
March 21, 2011
my recent failures
I've failed a lot in the past 60 days. Here are my most recent formal rejections:
I failed to be accepted as a reading tutor for the local middle school.
I failed to be accepted as a volunteer for the local crisis clinic.
I failed to be accepted as an office manager for the Washingont Student Association.
I failed to be accepted as an internet search rater for LeapForce Consulting.
I failed to be accepted as an internet search rater for LionBridge Consulting.
i'm still at the shitty job I don't care about, that has mysteriously gotten shittier.
the things I do for money...
April 11, 2011
Poem for the school newspaper
I'm going to look into how much money it'll cost to get this published
big fat cocks
big fat cocks
big fat cocks squirting
big fat cocks
big fat cocks
big fat cocks squirting hot loads
big fat cocks
big fat cocks
big fat cocks squirting hot loads of semen over the balcony
May 9, 2011
The house was ragged and trashed. There was a homogenous blend of the new tenant's possession's with the former tenants' which I found to be unruly. Yet more and more people were arriving and I realized that J & I were probably the only one who found the house to trashed. It seemed as if the former tenants had strewn out their belongings against the walls, leaving emaciated walkways between rooms.
Old cabinets, microphone stands, aging banana-painted drawers, various mugs from Minnesota, a teapot from the East, beer cases full of trash and wrappers and peels, cannisters of paprika, epsom salts, black pepper, curry seasonings, green and red bouillon cubes, cat trees rooted to the carpeting, stains of cat urine alongside them, a mateless sneaker, a coverless vent nestled under floorboards, and an upturned boxspring.
December 5, 2011
My mom remarried in 2004. I was on her side. She deserved to be happy.
The wedding was interesting though. Of course, my father didn’t show up. That would be really weird. I felt like a martyr, though. Like I was the image of someone losing from this partnership. I was put in a weird position and was forced to cope somehow. The first thing I remember is hardly remembering.
My mom was going through chemotherapy at the time and I took some of her Ativan to calm my nerves. I remember some people singing at the wedding. It was in the clubhouse in that gated community of mobile homes in which they lived, with some Spanish name. I remember lying to my grandmother about the beer I was drinking, saying it was juice. She doesn’t know what Heineken is. She’s too old and foreign to know. I love her.
I think I danced with my cousin. And I remember passing out in the back of my Aunt Rona’s Ford Escape with the dog. I did not puke. I do not remember how I got home. That’s one of my trademark shitfaced wasted reflections. I do not remember how I get home.
Like the first time I got drunk when I was 14. Jessica, Kim, and Miguel had me drink a Powerade bottle’s worth of what I thought was mostly Powerade. It was mostly Bacardi. I was wearing an oversized hoodie with shark tooth designs on it. It was ugly and black. In my mom’s car I remember puking down the sleeve. I do not know how she did not know. I think she pretended not to. How could she not notice? Somewhere she picked me up and drove me home. I stumbled into my bed and puked in it, without taking off the hoodie. I learning nothing from this experience, except from not to trust people; they may deceive you at any given time.
October 30, 2011
I don’t think the answer was good enough for him, because he didn’t respond. I wonder what special investigator person, call him Agent Bradley, did after work that night. Did he complain about today’s youth, have a drink of Maker’s Mark, call his wife a sour name and then apologize? Did he walk in the door, notice a bill he’d been avoiding on the countertop, and swear, and wish his daughter didn’t hear him? Did he tell his wife about the kid who does speed because he thinks he’s a creative artist? Did he lay her a sweet smile at the end of his jeering anecdote? Agent Bradley, what did you have for dinner that night? Do you live alone and eat Marie Calender’s frozen entrees? Do you smoke Pall Malls, Marlboro Reds, or are you just too good to smoke? When you’re not driving the Ford Interceptor, what do you drive? I want to know about you because I want to know what makes you you. I want to know why you didn’t respond. I told you why I did that one particular drug at one particular moment last week, which, in my opinion is a very personal thing to ask, and I, feeling blinded, physically immobile, and mentally blunted, poured out a piece of my heart to you during that drive.
And I want it back.
It’s hard to be a rebel when you just want to go home and see your parents and hope they’ll still love you.
September 16, 2012 (yes 2012)
An extraordinarily well-groomed and tanned man donning designer jeans scampered down the stairs to our intern-cave.
"Hey Matt, you faggot, I hear it's your last day!"
"You just heard?"
His head turned toward the kitchen table. "Woah, Captain Morgan? Yo, T-Pain, how's that King of Fighters site monitoring coming along?"
Tyler threw his palms into the air. "Dude I've been working on Amanda's Dove thing all day. I'm locked down."
"You son of a cunt T-Rizzle," he put his hands on Tyler's desk and sucked air through his teeth. Somebody laughed.
"Hey, I just work here."
The tanned metrosexual removed a pen lodged between his ear and moussed hair and threw it across the room, whapping against the fridge. He made a masturbatory gesture into the air and mimicked semen spraying in Tyler's direction. "Uh! Uh! Fuck!" He waltzed to the NFL Blitz '99 arcade machine and manned one of the joysticks. "Hey Matt," he shouted. "You ready to get your shit pushed in...again!?"
"Nah I'm swamped. Maybe later - ask Tyler or Dan."
"You're such a bitch, Matt," he bugged his eyes out at me. "You know you're going to play with me and you're going to fucking lose!"
This work by Marcus Hazelberg is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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