So now it is 2017. I must have started this around '08. Never used it as much as I thought I would. Managed to transcribe some handwritten musings one night real late. The one good thing is I still love the title. And I will never forget that night with Mackenzie. Walking from lafarge, pretty high I believe, looking for her car. Neither one of us could find it. Oh wait, no. I wasn't with Mackenzie, I was with Nancy. We were looking for Kenz's car though. A saab convertible. She "told" us where it was. However, in true kenz fashion, it was not there. She was probably high when she parked it. But we went on an expedition because my guitar Jason, 15 (probably shitty and light) beers, and all the rest of my pot (which was maybe a dime bag) were in the car. We didn't find it that night, but we had a great time and I came up with the name of my first album. OK, probably didn't need to write that considering I will be the only person to read this and I already know what happened. Oh well. I am thinking that I will move my journaling efforts from notebook to blog. Typing is easier/faster. Plus, I have started using that notebook for my genealogy research. I also would like to up my typing speed in french. I did this with another word processor because I can't type accents here. That is frustrating. I bet there is a way but I don't want to waste time finding it right now. I am going to post the french I typed, the google translation to english and the reverse translation of my translated english back to french: AHHH! Et je le fais encore!! Chaque fois que je tape des phrases avec des accents et avec les nouveaux mots, j’essais de les copier et les effacer plutôt. Je tape le “alt” au lieu de “ctrl” et puis je tape “c”. Alors, je vois un “ç” au liuex de mes mots! C’est extremant agaçant. Maintenant, je vais essayer encore de copier toutes mes phrases et les verifiés avec google translate. AHHH! And I do it again !! Every time I type phrases with accents and with new words, I try to copy them and erase them instead. I type the "alt" instead of "ctrl" and then type "c". So I see a "ç" at the end of my words! It's extreme annoying. Now I will try again to copy all my sentences and checked them with google translate. AHHH! Et je le fais encore! Chaque fois que je tape des phrases avec des accents et avec de nouveaux mots, j'essaie de les copier et de les effacer à la place. Je tape le "alt" au lieu de "ctrl" et puis tapez "c". Alors je vois un "ç" à la fin de mes mots! C'est extrêmement ennuyeux. Maintenant, je vais essayer de nouveau de copier toutes mes phrases et vérifié avec google translate. this is the thing about journaling or blogging. I am bored now. I should come up with an outline and discuss something interesting like my take on Trump and whats going on now. But the times that I have time to sit and blog, or when I decide to actually write things down, I am not motivated to write about any thing in particular.

www.canyoutellifimillegal.moonfruit.com

it is obvious to me how very silly i was
of course there really were the old shits i found in my notebooks
but of course there was filler. there is always filler
and each word must be witty, each sentence complete
heaven forbid i eschew poet-etry and embrace being neat.

but here it is, junior year. still in college (hopefully, i hope).
at least i have, well you know.
i would talk about it every night at 9 to the whole (intelligent) world if i could.
Hear ye, hear ye, democrat socialists and the minority,
i no longer answer to me
hear i am, not alone, not afraid, but afraid of being alone.
Can do it/? or do i need i?
can i see it or taste it?
fuck it.
i love it
fuck me.


(TAKE IT!!)

you caught me.

outside last night your face was just right
the way i saw you in the perfect light
i could draw you over in my mind
until your dimple matches mine
until we run out of time to be alone together
and whether you like it or not i don't know what i want
to do about it


there's a cliff i can't jump off of without a little shove
against the wall you share with Kacey pin my arms above my head
remind me why every time i see my bed
it looks so empty


im scared of falling in love again
that i might actually fall this time and not pretend to
be alright at night as i go to bed without you
fall asleep on the couch so i'm able to resist when i want to walk over and kiss you until you say i missed you
too many times have i just walked by you
instead of kissing your neck where i know you want me to
how can i flirt with you, when every touch gets me off topic


There's a secret i can't tell you without a cigaret
to take a drag on as i whisper you make me wet every time
you smile at me with that look in your eyes
i realized its the same look as mine

There's a place that i can't find without making you moan
my name out loud so i can hear when i make you come back down to earth
with a a sigh and a silly grin, wipe my chin, begin again.

i won't pretend
lets be more than friends
the end.

the sunset dilema

The wind blew her hair around her face until the
setting sun in front of her was caught up within the fine
strands and diffused through it creating the illusion of
a halo around her face. Any passerby would probable aggree
that the sun had purposfully created this affect to
compliment her striking angelic features. Her eyes really
were abnormally large but set off, as they were, by her
long and full eyelashes they became deep pools that truly
provided a window into her soul. And that soul was just
as beautiful and striking as her vibrant green eyes.
It may seem that this essay is wasting too much space
just describing this anonymous angel's eyes but the fact
is they deserve it. Were this girl alive during the age
of chivalry and trubadors, her eyes would be the kind to
inspire impromptu verse from hopeless suiters. One could
look into her eyes and see not only the innocent and pure
honesty radiating from deep within her but see themselves
reflected back as who they were supposed to be. She
really seemed to be an unearthly epheraial being.
At that moment she was lost in thought as she
casually leaned against the starboard deck. She was
fascinated by the beauty of the sun setting on the vast
horizon before her. There were no skyscrapers or power
lines to distract from the raw beauty of the sun's
natural path. It was at then that she finally let go of
all her banal conception of time and gave into natures
insistant and lulling cycle. She let go of her ties to
the past, only holding on to the intangible heartaches
that would later be carried on only in her wrinkles. She g
ave up her hopes for the future but not her dreams. She
turned herself over to the now, as constant and
unpredictable as the choppy waves carrying her far away
from home.
Simultaneously she became aware of the horizon line
before her, the only visible seperation between day and
night. It seemed to extend in an unaturally straigt line
from where she stood to eternity. No, it had
nothing to do with time. It was outside the temporal
world. She noticed that it had no begginning and no
ending. It just was.
Although she percieved it as an unwaveringly straigt
line, some small part of her mind recognized that was just
an illusion and it was really a reflection of the
inconcievably round curve of earths circumfrance. This
new thought made her aware of the paradoxes of light. How
else could the only perfectly straight line experienced in
nature actually be the unchanging curve of the earth that
we live on? Maybe nothing we saw was straight. Yes, she
thought, the concept of "perfectly straight" was just
that, a concept, and nothing more. It could never exist
and maybe we were all better for that.

lullanight and goodbye

i don't care about what they say. i don't care what you are and all i think about is today and i may be classified as a hooligan or even worse. I wear dirty clothes or no clothes at all. i abuse booze and aderol. the world goes on around me every day. and i push my way around with no care at all. but then.
the world changed for me.
when the world took you away from me.
i pray extra hard and cry extra long just to see you.
and when each day ends, i renew my efforts to change again
each and every night, i win, but i loose the fight
because i hate sleeping alone
but what's worse is waking up without you.
so now i care about what i have to say and i care alot about the world today. I try to be good and i try to be what you would want me to be. i wear a ribbon of black, tied to a piercing on my back, even when im naked you know that im still in mourning for you. and in the morning i go to church. i listen to the preacher and i try to make it work, i may not believe it but if it means that i could see you i'll try.

so know now wherever you are. i'll be there someday if i believe what they say, if i believe what im saying if i say it all right then ill live it right too. and maybe one day it will all have a point, maybe the day when i don't disapoint you, don't forsake you, and don't mistake your feelings for me. but until that day comes along, all i can do is just sing you this song, so lullabye. and goodnight. and listen closely and maybe i might just leave a clue, a little hint, that i love you.

overheard at the satellite
Birds and Rain and Amnesty
and a boy going home crying
is that good for you
Babble and Blah and Illiteracy
I have a damn life
I don't know why
I'm the same!
I'm in sane!

damn cigarettes, nicotine, and other drugs that make my body say "POW!"

i have reached the point where the lines between hunger, need of nicotine, and nausea have been blurred. I have also reached the point of writing normally again; no more midnight (or 4am) dips into the subconscious (aka my old notebooks), but that's nether here nor there. i figure if i quit cold turkey now--this first day experiencing this cavernous void that can only be filled, and is filled so completely, by nicotine--i could avoid years of enslavement to Big Tobacco companies. Also, i have discovered that mixing is so overrated and it's time to revert to my purist ways.

i have an interesting question: What is meaning? not what is meaningful, but what exactly does "meaning" mean? interesting, no? Everyone always goes out there looking for meaning. Meaning in what they do, meaning in what they wear, meaning in what they listen to, meaning in what they believe, or just meaning in general. So what are they trying to find? do they even know? do you know? maybe its not "Man's search for meaning" but "the revelation of meaning to man".

hmm, i'll leave off on that note, i feel like questioning today, not answering.

until the answer,
the question.

the hour is upon us

well, all the ridiculous, fucked-up-ness of this past week is finally catching up to me. now all that remains is the simple, undeniable fact that work must be done. still. even though the catalyst for this week of perpetual failure was work, and work already done was the reason for the failure.

am i a failure? am i going to "fail" out of college? or is all this really not at all applicable to the real world outside of campus? Will i ever have to write about waiting for Godot in french again? no.

philosophy. whats the point? I'm not going to graduate college only to throw myself back into academia and all the stress and pressure that comes along with that. so what am i going to do? i cant just be a musician, i can't just work some dead-end, 50 hour a week job, I'm just not good for anything.

nothing fits me. there is nothing i love doing (other than music, but that's different). i don't feel passionate about anything.

nancy and i had some crazy convo about feelings last night and if its possible to not feel them. but what i want to know, is how is it possible to feel feelings? i think it is possible to be numb to feelings around and within me, but that numbness itself is also a kind of feeling i guess. o well, I'm just going to hope that passion will find me and i will learn to live sometime like the rest of the world.

blogging my way through homework

What is the concept of human nature? Do humans have a nature? or, as Sartre proposed, does existence precede essence? what is the role of fate or destiny in life? Do either exist? If so, in what way? what facet of existentialism am i interested in but unfamiliar with?

the problem of free will and human nature in Sartre:

Sartre sees free will as the human's ability

stellar dollars

i can see you through the display window at starbucks. your features are having a hard time focusing in on me. i am on the verge of tearing out of my seat to frantically grab the door and and abruptly shove myself into your life-- the way your face in the glass stopped mine.

i can see myself, entering triumphantly, like a cowboy of lore; both guns drawn as i push through the swinging saloon doors. both sassy doors slap me on their second swing. i couldn't see the laughter, but i could hear it
as i backed out slowly and managed to run away blindly.

meanwhile, we try to inhale wisdom, understanding, and perpetual epiphanies. maybe they didn't read the warning: May cause delusions of grandeur and the urge to look for greater meaning in the simple sonic waves of music.
well, thankyou mr. surgeon general. but really, how many stars do you need? I suggest you keep to leading armies and cutting tumors. Or was is leading tumors and cutting armies?
----
i hope one day you and i will end up as two old ladies.
we would lunch at starbucks;
and sup alone.
----
does anyone ever notice the ever so subtle,
but potentially earsplitting,
emergency exit lights in the corner?
I'm sitting underneath them.
next to my friend.
he sits with buds in his ears and his bowl, listening to my songs
i sit as an outsider to his introspective reveille,
trying not to get sucked back into the melodies of my messed up memories.
----
this year, the taste of fall occurs permanently in august.
What will you say to us? When the winter crop comes early, too?
What will you do? When another season of our life ends?
and it ends before the leaves have fallen?

the spinning earth,
the radiant sun;
they keep the steady beat of a drum as they form the rhythm section of the universe.
the tiny taps on those ivory keys ring out individually, keeping in time with the rain drops.

we may not like the tempo, but even if we stop playing the melody, the beat goes on.

just a dash of ontology and a dollop of music

everything other than boy bands is retro
we all have records, but no one has wrinkles
and we are all sitting on your shag carpet.
cross legged on your shag carpet.

knowledge is the first step
knowledge can be the first step
you can't swim anywhere in a sea of doubt
in the real world-- knowledge doesn't count.
emotion; feeling knowledge.

------

the deep notes, they sound best
hey, watch out for that guy in a vest
you and he are octaves apart

pianos, raining down
neighbors going up & down
and you assign a time signature to your poetry
back to bed

wake up, lying in bed
with music stuck to your head
limber and loose.

Neighbors going up. and. down.
Upper and lower tones,
my tendancy is to home.







space.

hotboxing and pill-popping

random observations of 4 guys outside a dorm smoking white owls:

in my sight, 4 college guys discussing all the different plots of Love Actually. And repeatedly, randomly interjecting "and there Was A FIREFIGHT!"

small break in the action as the 4 puff in silence (they don't inhale).

one, who has been wandering in small loopy ovals, notices some interesting organic life,

"Look at this FUNGI! There's ooze coming out of it!"

meanwhile, the speaker didn't hear one of his comrades mutter,

"Is it pointing North or South, Boyscout?"

-------------------------


watching Science of Sleep is an experience. It's an adventure. it's almost like someone tripped off something crazy-- crazier than LSD or 'shrooms-- and filmed the whole thing. it's amazing.

i feel like my brain has been whisked to firm peaks. which means, time for some digging, time to go through the old notebooks and find little nuggets of clandestine genius. Wish me a full harvest.

ps. today was a dark, dark day. elle, yes that's me, i, knocked over and obliterated a bong... that was not even my own. it was such a travesty. and this bong was one of those really cool, perfect travel size, metallic bongs. it was awesome, and i killed it. a sad day of my life. i enter the world now a little more jaded every morning.

-------------------------

.rhapsody of a reminiscence.

sitting in a car on a sunny day. the sun is reflecting on the crusted snow all around. you and me are sitting in the front seat. I could swear this moment was so ideal that i heard a Grammy winning soundtrack rolling faintly along in the distance. In one sense though, it doesn't even matter. we don't really need to hear the sounds the other one is forming with their mouth and their larynx. we are on a whole other plane of communication. in fact, our plane is parallel to the all other planes of communication; we will never again intersect with vain chit-chat. ideas, senses, emotions and auras. thoughts, advice, love and support. empathy, ecstasy, empowerment and humility. all of these things are coursing through the air between us. the air around us is charged with the energy they give off as they penetrate deep into each other's essence, constantly growing and developing the I within each of us.

now we are square dancing around the brick building that glues us together while this clamp adjusts us to the new direction of our friendship. The air is crisp, the leaves are crisp, everywhere the pallet of nature flows seamlessly into our subconscious aesthetic; unwittingly, we are being enriched by the untainted, raw grace of earth. every footstep echoes into eternity as our words weave together, strengthening our bonds. how can two separate consciousnesses be so interlaced, yet so distant? i am constantly being in awe of you.

but memories fade. life doesn't have to be like psychology class; some days should just be pass or fail. feelings are essential in a world of potential, but emotions can be your downfall. Step out of your box, buy some cheap alcohol, sit back on the couch and try to relax. just tune into your brownie. and remember, life is outrageous (i friggen love that word).

(if you are smart, you will now go immediately to listen to Gold Dust Woman by Fleetwood Mac)

The 5th element

has it only been this long since i last graced this corner of hyperspace with my bold typeface? well, mayhap it has only been this long, but a very key element to this young blog is missing. i must declare with emphasis my undying love of the red sox. that is all.

c'est maintenant dejà? je vien de ce moment-là.

when its 4 in the morning a week after this supposed "l'analyse" is due and you just managed to turn your computer on (thanks to some scissors and electrical tape), it follows, naturally, that it's also crunch time. And what does crunch time mean kids? it means a lot of aderol and a little thing I like to call procrastination. Say it with me: pro-crast-in-ation. what is procrastination? well, it is a way of not doing something that makes you feel like you're doing something. And in this day and age, where the feeling of stability and fortitude is much more important than actual stability and fortitude, procrastination is all you need. why be studious when you can feel studious without the work! thats right guys and gals, here only, for 2 easy payments of $19.99, you too can feel studious and driven. (possible side effects may include nausea, anxiety, the urge to gauge your eyes out, and in extreme cases, failing out of college. do not use if pregnant or planning to succeed in life).

johnny cash had it right; flip the world off with a guitar in your hands and pills in your pocket.



Derek K. Miller had it right when he said:
"Here, there's no need for context. The guitar and swanky strap, the blur of motion, the casual collared shirt (both elegant and probably sweaty), the flip of dark hair, and that face. It could be 1955 or 2003; a makeshift prison stage, a giant concert arena, or a recording studio; an anonymous sidewalk busker or the biggest star in the world. Whoever that guy is, he rocks, and when he gives you the finger, he bloody well means it."
(2003; http://www.penmachine.com/musicpages/greatestphoto.html ;accessed 10/10/07)

well, another 4:20 has passed and another passed around and i think it might be time to finally break some ground on that paper.

au revoir. je vous souhaite une bonne journée. à la prochain fois que nos chemins s'entrecroisent.