ssiixx

What a night.

2008-10-26T04:31:00.001-07:00

So.

I park to go to a party, this woman in an SUV parks across the street and glares at us. As she comes out, Nigel asks her if she happens to have an extra cigarette. She replies no and then asks if we can happen to "move our fucking car." Nigel says no, sorry. She then flips the fuck out and calls us drunk assholes. I tell her I don't drink.

She responds by calling us all sorts of nasty names, to which I replied that she's a fucking bitch and she can go choke on a dick. She says she's going to go get her husband. I tell her she's a twat. She goes inside.

I check back on my car 5 minutes later and the husband starts knocking on the window of their house. I tell nigel not to look at him. Nigel waves to them. The man emerges from the house with a golf club and runs at us saying "THAT'S IT I'M GOING TO BEAT YOUR ASSES YOU FUCKING COCKSUCKERS."

He hits the hood of my car with the golf club, causing a small dent.
This is a mistake.

I pull out my Bersa Thunder .380 and chamber a round, commenting "Back the fuck off, motherfucker. Back off right fucking now. Get the fuck away from my car."

The man runs back into the yard, but the woman freaks out and demands I shoot her. I tell her she's a dumb cunt and tell Nigel to get in the car. They scramble to try to get my licence plate. As I shut my door to drive off, I tell them:

"You two are fucking lucky."

Then, we drive seven blocks, call the police, file a report, and had them arrested.

End of night.

2008-09-25T01:46:00.001-07:00

I have become a conquistador.

It is no longer a question of love. It is not a question of attraction or matches or things falling into place. These things do not fall like paper cranes, they are placed, carefully, for you to see. They are a roadmap. They are markers leading you to the place I want you. And you'll discover them, little love, as if by an accident and revel in the perfection of chance. Of fate. But fate has no hold over me and my affairs, I make a point of it.

No, it's not about love. Not anymore. This is revenge, preemptive and generalized to an extreme. Do you think I like you, your touch, your flirting and your compliments? Do you think my reciprocation in flirting means I accept you, I want you, I even like you? Do you think that, at the very least, it means I want you like you want me? No, I can't. I don't. What I am saying to you with my careful smile, my kind words and my flesh beneath your skin, so loud that I fear you will sense it beneath the thin layer of skin beneath which it boils in my blood, is simple. I hate you. I hate you and I want to punish you, not just for what you do and might do to me, but for who you are. I loathe every inch of you, every breath, every word you speak makes me twist up inside more with revulsion. I know you. I know what you want. I know what you are and what you do and, oh, I am so tired of it.

Let me explain my attraction to you, if you choose to call it that. I want to have you in the palm of my hand and then I want to throw you away. I want you to call me. I want you to miss me and not miss you. I want you to become pathetic for me, overtly. I want you to have something you want and have it taken away from you. I want this from you because so many times it happens to me. There is no future to this, no kind ending. There is only me getting what I want, or me not getting what I want.

Not with the innocent, I am afraid to touch good people anymore for fear of leaving stains. But you. Yes, you. I'll touch you, rake with my fingernails and leave marks on you. I know the song by heart and I can sing it convincingly, even as it grows tired and common. I do it out of hate, the ion of sadness that's burned and burned and become energized to a state of praxis. There is only one escape, one weakness, to this blind brutality. I shouldn't tell you, but I will. When I meet you, I want you, I do want you. That is the only time I want anything from me or that you can do anything for me. It's that need that's the only power a boy can have over me. If he pulls away before I have him, there is an echo of hurt that ripples through me. I'll want you more then any other, I'll follow you. I'll entice you. I'll do what I can and what I have to to have you. If you stay away, you'll always have power over me. You'll never be a broken product of my revenge, tainted in my own eyes.

Conquistador, I'll slash and burn through them. I do not want to love you, I want you to love me and hurt. It makes me less sad, because when you're hurting I'm not alone. I am your intangible, I am the myth you can't quite lay to rest. I breathe life into it and leave it looming before you, cowering you into my hand. Herr god, Herr lucifer, beware, beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair, and I eat men like air.

I like how I think I'm really really funny

2008-08-31T01:02:00.001-07:00

And most people just react to it with intense hostility. DONT CARE.

YOU. LOOK. LIKE. JIMMY. NEUTRON.
And I don't care if you get mad at me for pointing it out, scene boy.

Don't invite me to your parties

2008-07-27T05:15:00.000-07:00

I don't drink or do drugs, so to amuse myself at parties one of my recent hobbies has been to try to make the absolute worst possible impression on people I haven't met. The worst.

So without further delay, this is what I did tonight.

This is apparently what I'd look like if I picked up 15 year old prostitutes and went to bro parties after doing rails off their boners. Cool.

PS I'd never met the boy in most of the pictures before tonight and I don't know how he ended up on my lap, but he was rad.

fury

2008-07-15T09:29:00.000-07:00

Looks can be deceiving

V

2008-07-14T05:31:00.000-07:00

The difference between love and everything else is that love defies that which we hate about the world around us. Love does not suddenly die. It does not vanish when we need it. It lives in the back of our minds when we are alone. It can be trusted when nothing else can, it is a path straight through the defenses and mistrust and suspicion and apprehension and uncertainty that makes speaking or trusting or even dealing with other people so complicated. It is logical simplicity in a world of duplicity. It is to know when you go to sleep that you are watched over endlessly and benevolently by someone.

And the hardest part of love is when you can't stop ignoring the lessons of everything else and begin to realize that no, maybe it isn't absolute after all. Things are connected by strings. Gravity binds things together closely, absolutely, invisibly and perpetually. But these strings can be stretched, pulled, and eventually broken when they reach their limit. After that there is no string, no bond, just empty space between two dissociated objects. There is no evidence to suggest they ever coexisted, only the cold action of physics that drew them apart.

And you, I'd breathe. In spite and hatred and violence there was always my family. Weak, strong, there was no difference for once. For once it was all safe, for once someone didn't let me go. I could seek solace without sacrificing my pride. Maybe these things exist only in mutual suffering, and vanish like shadows in the light of content. Maybe we are only family in the discontent that runs through our veins, half removed again when the wounds start to heal. I am hard. I am unfriendly and hostile. I have contempt. I have bitterness. I have vendettas of pride and spite and small insults. But it was never the same rules, pour toi. Je pourrais regarde 200 garçons meurent sans le blesse que te regarder pleurer me fait sentir. Est-ce tu devenir un garçon comme un autre, encore et pour le dernier fois?

mast

2008-07-14T05:28:00.000-07:00

Tension. I don't mind that the strings get tighter and tighter with time. It's only that which allows them to vibrate louder and louder and drown out anything but the chaos. Discord. This is what it's like to live a life disjointed in full bloom. Potential wide-eyed, praxis scattered. I've traveled over a thousand miles in the last week. Why? To feel, the pursuit of feeling. To be struck down again while seeking the thought and feeling that someone gives a fuck about me. Here, there, under rocks and on beds and beaches and fountains and concrete and across oceans and states and miles and hundreds of dollars I look to feel slightly less alone. To feel cared for. To feel like I have some semblance of family. To hold on to the human half, the right to be weak, the right to be treated like a person rather then a novelty.

I feel like I'm standing very very high and the wind is blasting my hair back and making my eyes water and blowing everything from my hands and pockets and leaving me grasping. I am falling. I am. I am winding down. This is a last push, the way things stand. This is a press of dwindling strength, pitifully unfocused for a final strike. I have no great loves to fight for, only bitter hurts turned to bitter hatreds and sad scars to avenge. No great stories anymore. Resentment. I begin to treat my friends like enemies for marring the trust and faith and emotion I give to them.

You give up the right to be close with someone when you go away a lot. I go away a lot. And when I end up screaming and begging and clawing to speak and be heard and feel human again I find I am a piece. A novelty. Everyone has cashed in their faith in me. There is no one to choose me. There is no one to believe in me. I am central to no one's lives, I am close to no one's heart, I am small. A small piece that comes to bear as an amusement, a crutch, an angel sent by god to protect you in your times of need, requiring no thanks or reciprocation because that's my fucking job. I am self-sacrificing charity.

It's bent. I can't stand anyone because I know how this ends. I know and anticipate that feeling of wounded trust or of being shoved aside or passed over or forgotten. I don't want to care, I don't want reminders that embarrass me of caring for anyone ever because whatever I did and whatever I was and am is never enough.

I am becoming self destructive. I don't even feel the need to document the absolute insanity I brush against on a daily basis anymore and don't care if it's the last time I get away with it. It's not for attention because no one cares. It's for me. It amuses me. It's the only thing that amuses me, watching it finish bending and break. Someone offered to sell me a grenade, several for the right price.

To raise the day from nothing to the greatest, to wrench the day from the greatest to the lowest.

2008-07-05T16:23:00.001-07:00

No one should have this power over me.

2008-07-04T01:37:00.001-07:00

A shift resists the tide resists the liberation of that which carries the heart, the blood which carries the feeling which conveys the capability to love and the capability to hurt. To fracture. More pieces, the edges of old obsidian crushing against new flesh born again, heartmeat ready to be ground again into oblivion. Does it exist to be destroyed? I am growing new parts for you to hurt because the old ones won't carry feeling anymore. The current cannot pass the black spots left by the surrender of the blood from these places, given up to malice and ghost towns of feeling. Raw skin, new. It hurts to grow and it hurts in anticipation of the hurt, so sensitive after so much quietness the faintest echo tears. I can feel it swelling like a wave having pulled back for so long and I stand as on the sand waiting for it to crash over me. Diamond splinters. The weakness disgusts that which I have grown malcontent with, the strength that keeps me whole but also alone. Numb or sad. Cascades or flat lines. Which is living, which is dying?

The summit

2008-07-02T12:44:00.001-07:00

There is no sanctity, even in the old things anymore. Through this all I've felt numb, hungering to feel again. I pursue it, against odds and obstacles and hardship. I find the echoes in the ghost of suffering, the impression of heartbeats in heartache. Anger, pain, loss, I lift my head to these at the reminder of sensation. Life! So consuming once now so elusive. Erasing all the questions that once consumed me as trivial and driving them to the bottom of my mind.

Today I touched a ghost and I question. Is it worth it to chase these phantoms of feeling, tracing down old scars to remember the hurt that caused them? I wonder if I gave someone my blood, if the numbness like an anesthetic would cool their thoughts as well. It is such a change.

I wonder. What was it like for him? Did he think to himself how much older I look? How my hands are still when they were once always in motion? I wonder if he noticed how still my once all consuming heart has become. I wonder if he felt the stir of what he once felt for me, or if the whole time he was already like this and I just had to play catchup. I wonder what it felt like to him to touch again, briefly embrace one who he once told he loved and drove and touched and called and shared and thought of and fucked. If he felt the echo I listened so carefully for in myself. I hope he did. I wish I'd had more time.

This place was sacred. This island, these trees, this boy and the water. They were dreams of a word before the harshness of adulthood and the coming of such stillness. It was like a church, a mecca to which I sometimes dreamed of returning to and to see him again. Not for love, not for redemption nor revenge but for the same reason one makes a pilgrimage to a shrine. To touch, to be in the presence of that which is reverent and divine. I wanted to remember what that love felt like, even and especially in the echos of the pain it caused, the most vivid reminder. This island, I came to find made of dirt and trees and rock like any and all other places I've been and found nothing but more hunger. The boy still shy and still living the same life. His arms still strong, his hair, skin, the same. A boy, like the boy yesterday or any of the boys before. When I remembered him I didn't remember that he was just a boy, I remembered that I'd loved him more then I loved myself. When staring at a boy, it is hard to remember that he is the one. He is the one who wrote an essay about how I set him free. He held me. He saw me cry. He came forever to see me. He picked me up. And he wounded me for years. Love and notoriety and animosity and significance symbolized by one boy, but it is hard to make the connection anymore.

When he told me it was over I told myself I would not care. I promised myself I would be better, that when he saw me again I would have fixed whatever he didn't want about me and he would love me again and I would not care. I didn't want to care. That's all I wanted, the absence of indignity. I imagined it in my head, some nights. And then when the day comes to pass so many years later it passes again like any other, my wish to not care inverting into so desperately wishing I felt something. But his skin felt like skin and his voice sounded like a voice and I did not recall the powerful blows he once held above me. I could not connect these things.

Maybe I will see him again. Maybe with more time it would be different. I think it might. But rather then wrought with years of weight and significance the time, the epic meeting of former lovers once so charged he worried I'd take revenge for breaking me so hard, passed as the rest of my life does and has and shall. Quiet, still for the most part. An exercise in existence.

It was nice to see him again. On some level I'd missed him. The ferry is loading now and the dream, the sanctity, the place of mystery and myth in my head of the boy who held my heart in his hands is over. I was afraid I was not free, but I am. I am free, no one holds power over me and I make my own choices. The thought makes me sad, I had hoped to still have strings touching my heart, even if long left idle.

On verra. I hope I see him again. I want him to remind me how I felt, even if just to hurt a little. I am liberated and lost, and this trip has destroyed one of the few places and memories I'd kept sacred all these years.

Also

2008-06-23T03:47:00.001-07:00

Two latina woman in a minivan with a camera filmed him and I walking telling us "OH MY GOD YOU TWO LOOK LIKE MODELS, YOU'RE SO CUTE!" and then something about how her cousin was gay and he was going to hear about us. I blushed a little.

Balls.

2008-06-23T03:45:00.001-07:00

So. Met yet another narcissistic drug addicted spends-all-his-time-in-the-pursuit-of-drugs-and-alcohol square scene kid. Normally I'd have tuned him out after the first comment about how sweet blow is but HE IS AN EXACT LOOKALIKE OF MY EX. The one that I was in pathetic love with and then broke up violently? Looks. Exactly. Like. Him.

Only he's openly more horrible, manipulative, and narcissistic. But it just weirds me the fuck out that this kid looks exactly like Ryan. What the fuck.

Scattered, scattered, scattered.

2008-06-18T14:49:00.001-07:00

I just had the most terrifying dream and I have absolutely no one to confide it in to feel better and that's a shitty feeling. I feel like moving.

Also

2008-06-18T03:44:00.001-07:00

Gun people are so funny. A black man at the convenience store just quizzed me for five minutes about AR-15's and gave me four dollars off my purchase because I "got him all interested."

ink

2008-06-18T03:03:00.001-07:00

Flashes. The flashbacks are so acute some times. I'm driving and suddenly my senses are in chicago. Night. Him, to my left, always left, and my heart, beating. Why in all the years my heart has remained cold had it chosen to wake to someone so undeserving and irreverent of such great weight? But I woke in Chicago, for once I broke down the games my subconscious devises to keep my eyes turned outwards, abandoned the practice of keeping things at a distance and wanted to love. I close my eyes and the smell, the air and the sound of the car and I'm in Chicago, I feel echos of what it was like to have my heart alive and breaking and I shudder and feel a icy touch creep through my body as if the memory has entered my blood, fresh with the chill of the snow and air outside the windows those nights. It haunts me. I am so stoic and unmovable, oceans of feeling break against me and I feel nothing but that dull echo through numbed scar tissue and I stay, incapable and unwilling to feel, a rock in the waves. What a strange feeling to be reminded of being at the mercy of another, to feel my heart sting like a living, breathing creature instead of the cold circuit it has been resigned to. To remember when I hurt. To remember when I was the one pouring my blood before an alter to immobility. Before I was like him.

Oh, for unhealed wounds. It matters so much and so little and it so easy yet hard to repair. The need for release grapples with the symptoms of the wound and I cannot cry, cannot explain in words the injury because I do not love you. I cannot love you. Il a l'fait. He has made it so I cannot love you. I cannot heal because I cannot speak or cry or feel it anymore unless you're with me and I love you. But I let the boys fall in love with me and then realize I cannot understand their feelings, I cannot relate and I cannot find anything in them worthy of that heavy pain I bore would take to wake again. It is not a choice, being without love. To be touched by those who are beautiful and feel only what my nerves tell me. I was transformed in the winder, in chicago. I took it in, the breaths in the cold air borne to my blood and crept to the core. I keep it there, a photo memory of the time place and circumstance of the death of things and I keep moving so it will not swallow me whole. The flight has taken me far, far, far and cost me money, friends, lovers, and most of all time. Years of my life tossed to air to avoid the feeling that haunts me tonight.

Alone in my car and I'm in chicago. I remember it by the cold in my blood and the echo of feeling alive cast against the absolute stillness I've lived within since. An echo in silence rips through the ears like a gunshot, and I am overwhelmed.

Knock Knock. Who's There? ME OPENING A CAN OF LEGAL WHOOPASS, BITCH.

2008-06-10T05:15:00.001-07:00

Pre Workup for Case: Toyota Camry Purchase

Basis for Case:

Goal: Receive back $950-$1,000 in compensation for car.

Justification for cash: Due to incorrect paperwork given, I was unable to register and thus legally drive car or take full possession. Attempts to contact the seller were ignored by her, forcing me to buy another car so that I could legally drive. By furnishing the wrong paperwork and then refusing to reply or respond to repeated attempts at contact, the seller denied me the ability to complete the sale and legally possess the car I purchased.

Justification for nullification of sale: The seller also made false statements about the vehicle during the exchange. While I was viewing the car, I reiterated questions I had asked about the vehicle previously and was told that the car got "decent" gas mileage, that it did not smoke or make noises, that although it idled rough it was not serious and the car was mechanically sound. I asked if the car had any other issues and she answered no. In reality, the car gets abysmal gas mileage, it smokes and makes noises due to a serious power steering fluid leak, and the "not serious" idling is due to serious engine damage which would require the engine to be replaced to fix. The car also has a variety of other issues which were, of course, not mentioned when I specifically asked. Some of these include, the passenger power window being broken, the stereo being not removed but cut from the car with a knife, requiring $100 just to repair the wiring, the power locks not working from the driver's side, the passenger door lock unable to be opened from the outside due to damage, a loud, abrasive noise upon turning on the air conditioning, and water damage in the trunk due to a pool of water being allowed to remain there for an unknown amount of time.

Upon further examination, a mechanic who examined the vehicle said that evidence pointed to the timing belt having previously snapped and damaging major engine components. He said it appeared the belt had been replaced but no attempt had been made to repair the damaged components. Instead, it looks as if once the extent of the damage was discovered, it was simply concealed and sold. It would be very unlikely for a mechanic to replace the timing belt, which is the newest component in the car, without noticing the damage caused by the previous one snapping and impacting the engine. As a result it is extremely unlikely that the seller was unaware of the extent of the damage to the car. The extent of that damage renders the car almost inoperable, at the very least dangerous, and has reduced the six cylinder engine to running on three cylinders without full compression. The end result is a car that could fail at any time, is hideously inefficient on fuel and in need of repairs worth more the the car itself. When asked specifically and repeatedly about questions retaining to this, the seller either avoided the question, minimized the problems, or outright lied about their existence.

Independent of this, the seller also furnished me with paperwork which had already been signed over to a separate buyer who was not a party over six months ago. Both the bill of sale and the title I was given release interest to a third party who was never mentioned. After apparently keeping the bill of sale I signed for herself, I only later discovered that the bill of sale she had given me was to another person. The car, according to the paperwork, is neither mine nor hers, but some other person's. Therefor, according to what she provided me with, the car was never hers to sell, or at the very least she chose to sell it to me in a fashion that ensured I could never register it, and then proceeded to ignore all attempts at contact.

Conclusion: Due to deception on the part of the buyer witnessed by an associate including apparent concealment of serious problems with the vehicle which would have prevented the sale had they been revealed, furnishing incorrect paperwork, doubtful ownership in the first place, and complete lack of cooperation with all reasonable attempts to contact the seller regarding these issues, it is my belief that the sale should be null and the money tendered should be refunded. The vehicle should be returned to the seller in the condition with which it has been received. I am not seeking damages for repairs, gas expenses, mechanic's bills, or other expenses. If I were to do so, the damages sought would be substantially higher.

Some more happenings and observations

2008-06-09T11:36:00.001-07:00

If you ever stay in the Daisy Hotel in Tacoma, Washington, wear a nun outfit or something or the sketchy guy who runs it will talk about and demonstrate the free porn the hotel has to offer for fifteen minutes. He's an overweight, hairy, SKETCHY AS HELL indian guy who will then knock on the door a full half hour before check out time and demand you leave.

At said hotel, there are also no locks on the door. I worked around this by not bothering to do anything about the door but having a loaded gun within five inches of my hand all night.

The bathroom smelled like rape. I didn't even know I knew what that smelled like until I tried to take a shower. The bedroom smelled like hashish and semi-consensual sex.

The drive to and from Tacoma is boring and a bitch. I went 80-85 most of the way back and exceeded the reading ability of my speedometer twenty-nine times.

One of the things I loathe more then anything is when someone tries to quote a stand up comedian, because I know of maybe three people I've ever met who can do that and actually make me laugh. Usually it's quoted incorrectly and then delivered with that laugh-craving, needy "eeh?" kind of punchline and it makes me fake-laugh uncomfortably and try to change the subject really hard. The next queer who tried to tell me this totally funny Margret Cho said one time and then incorrectly quote a quarter of one of her DVD's is getting tossed out of my car. Extra hatred is reserved for people trying to quote stand up comedians quoting other people, especially Margret Cho doing the voice of her mother. I love hearing a korean accent come out kind of german/russian and trying to understand what the fuck kind of reference you're trying to make.

I stole a sign from a Jack In The Box that offended me. It said in huge lettering "FORGETTING SOMETHING?" and then there's a giant picture of a fruit cup. I took this to read as "I THINK YOU'RE FUCKING FORGETTING TO ORDER YOUR OBLIGATORY FRUIT CUP, FUCK FACE" so I stole it and plan to modify it and apply it as a massive bumper sticker on my car. I haven't decided if I want to write "YOUR MOTHERFUCKING FRUIT CUP" or "A FRUIT CUP MOTHERFUCKER CHECK YO SELF" in sharpie on it yet, but it's going to be something motherfuckery and fruitcupy.

Still living in an art studio in which I'm not permitted to live. Someone is sewing relentlessly next door.

Did a shoot with Jonathan, not NEARLY done editing but hey.

Plus side of being me

2008-06-07T06:55:00.001-07:00

I look phenomenally cute with fucked up hair, first thing in the morning in a loose fitting tshirt and underwear.

Events

2008-06-06T02:11:00.001-07:00

I've been circling around Portland doing much and nothing. Former arch nemesis now not arch nemesis Jonathan has been in town and I've done a photo shoot with him, results pending. I've temporarily moved into my friend's art studio while I look for a cheap apartment (FOUND ONE FOR $300, DAMNNN). For now this will do, wireless internet via metrofi free wireless internet, no mattress but tomorrow I'll have one. Door locks. No shower = shitfuck, but I can wash my hair at least.

Tonight while going to McDonald's for food a black woman approached my car and asked if taco bell was open. I said I didn't think so, and he asked if she could jump in and go through the drivethrough at McDonald's. I unwisely allowed this, after making sure my valuables and gun were on my side of the car, and of course she turned out to be totally insane. She placed an order of at least twelve or thirteen things, screamed of course, and then proceeded to pay entirely in change. It turns out she was staying at the Kent hotel, which is a sex/hobo hotel with her massive amount of children. I gave her a ride back, and on the way I was cut off by a taxi, to which she proceeded to comment, and I quote "WHAT THE HALL KINDA THING THIS MOTHAFUCKA THINK HE BE DOIN I'MMA GET SOME ROAD RAGE UP IN HERE I DONT LIKE A MOTHEAFUCKA WHO DO DEM THINGS YA KNOW? I'MMA GET SOME ROAD RAGE UP IN HERE YA KNOW?" I agreed on principle and she got the fuck out of my car. She smelled a little like meth and oxycotton.

Portland - Again

2008-06-03T18:09:00.000-07:00

I drove up all day with some friends from Highschool yesterday and got in lateeeee. Again stayed in the closet - I'm looking at subletting an apartment SOON so I don't have to do that again. Casting was today and it took maybe 45 seconds, the rest of the day I have free and empty and it feels awkward because this isn't my house and I have only a handfull of friends here. But then again I have a handfull of friends anywhere. I'm considering driving to Seattle but I don't have anything really going on there either.

This is how I looked for the casting. I love how I don't take these things seriously, but then again modeling is a shit job and I only do it when approached.

I'd really like something to do at the moment but everyone I know is scattered and really difficult and expensive to consolidate. I need to start making some money. Soon. Once I get an apartment I can relax a bit, although honestly I can get an apartment in just about any city I want to at the moment. Seattle, Portland, Ashland, Los Angeles. Maybe I'll look to Seattle, but I worry about getting caught up in another side project there.

I also worry about writing nothing but meaningless musings about things that haven't happened yet. THE CLOSET STILL HAS FIBERGLASS DUST.

Oh, I just remembered I'm supposed to call someone. Sweet.

Events:

2008-05-31T14:29:00.000-07:00

- My car ended up having engine problems AND the woman gave me faulty paperwork, meaning it would cost more then it was worth to fix it.

- Had to buy an entire new car god damn it. 1992 Geo Prism. 30-35 MPG. Red. Sweet.

- Had the following exchange with Geico while shopping for insurance.

GEICO to ME

"FAIR CREDIT REPORTING ACT NOTICE

As a result of your recent rate quote or renewal, we obtained information about you from the consumer reporting agency listed below. That information was used in combination with other factors to determine the rate that you were provided.

Trans Union
National Disclosure Center
2 Baldwin Place, PO BOX 1000
Chester, PA 19022
or call 1(800)645-1938

Since we may have been able to offer you a lower rate had the report been more favorable, we treat our decision as an adverse action under the Fair Credit Reporting Act. You have the right to obtain a free copy of a consumer report from the reporting agency listed above, provided your request is made within 60 days of receiving this notice. You also have the right to contact the reporting agency listed above to dispute the accuracy or completeness of any information in the consumer report provided. The reporting agency did not determine your rate or play any part in our decision and is unable to provide you with specific reasons for our decision or how the rate was determined. You may request, no more than once annually that we re-rate you using an updated consumer report.

The specific information provided by Trans Union that may have influenced our decision is:

-Insufficient length of credit history (-)

-Delinquency (-)

-Presence of collection accounts (-)

-Recent delinquency (-)

Still have questions? Visit GEICO's Credit Use-Frequently Asked Questions page."

Me to GEICO:

"Yours was the worst quote I got anyway so fuck off.

Thx,
-K

P.S. Your mascot is fucking retarded. No one wants to buy car insurance from an english gecko and no one gives a shit about his life story. Your commercials make me want to kill myself with a hammer."

- Going to Portland on Monday.

Thought of the night

2008-05-30T01:52:00.001-07:00

Matthew Lush makes me want to shoot myself in the head. Just to punish him for being too stupid to live I'm seeding his sex tape on file sharing networks.

I wonder sometimes if my stepfather is retarded or just does these things to piss people off on purpose.

2008-05-27T15:03:00.002-07:00

I've been here less then a week.

cineque

2008-05-25T21:01:00.001-07:00

I move a lot for staying in the same place.

I am tired to death of making such little progress in life. I stay in quiet little circles, mini spheres of life in which I judge myself. And I succeed, more often then not, but with the decay of the whole while I play out these little games, real progress is slow. I become sidetracked, I throw away days, weeks, years. And I do it alone, but for tenuous ties due to my combative and discriminating nature. I am selective and most people drive me insane, I can't be around them. I can't be around much of anyone for any length of time. I lack excitement in my own life so I manufacture it. I want to be a part of something so I invent it. And I am still so fucking wounded and nostalgic even after so much time, it sickens and saddens me to my core that the most important thing, to me, that I've ever been a part of was such a horrible scar. It lingers over me and looms over everything I do and leaves me unable to appreciate beauty, kindness, and sincerity without first detaching myself from it. It leaves me cold, like I bled out all my warmth and I now go around observing everything with a cool, objective distance.

I wonder sometimes what I would do if I saw my first ex again. I know what I would do if I saw most of them, but not him. It's odd to think of spending two years with someone and then breaking off so abruptly, but I suppose I did that. After so much time it's more of a curiosity then anything, but I wonder if he looks in on me from time to time or cares to. It's faded to curiosity and who knows if it will fade still, but it's a stray thought I've caught in my head lately.

Thoughts are still and always fragmented, I hate being fragmented, disorganized. I am becoming more and more organic in my thoughts and decision making which is a horrible thing to do for someone who detaches himself from parts of life.

I can never focus long enough to say what I want to say.

omg

2008-05-18T16:09:00.001-07:00