Paul (nightplayer) wrote,
Paul
nightplayer

Thank you

Well, the end. This will be the last entry in this journal. It has had an immeasurable impact on my life, both with what I've written, who I've kept in touch with, and who I've met in the past two and a half years. I will always be available to keep in touch, paulnm a-circle gmail, and I want you to know that you are all my friends with whom I have shared and grown up alongside in a way I never thought I could with so many wonderful people. I'll miss making you laugh the most. I had this great Onion spoof in mind about a guy who complained a succubus just sorta laid there and really wasn't worth it, but I guess you can only spoof satire so much until you really start to question... Well, you know. Of course, I had to end this all with one last rambling sentence.

Anyway. Thank you so much for reading.



From the Archives of Nightplayer:

"from there to here, from here to there, funny things are everywhere" -Dr. Seuss

"not what can be expressed in words, but that whereby words are expressed"

Hectic Beach Life = Happy

That's not a wand. That's a ponytail.

And I'm thinking to myself, even though I have a life worth living forever here in LA this summer, I'm coming back here in a year for good, and it'll be about the same place to me. But in a year Franklin will be a completely different place, devoid of most of the reasons I'd ever want to go back there anyways (my friends).

But yeah. Being 21 is nice too, but weird. It doesn't feel different at all, but at the same time my unconscious can tell something big just happened. Sort of a limbo state, if you can party your ass off and still be in limbo at the same time. Apparently you can.

But it's OK cause the song I'm listening to just hit a big exciting break, and the planets aligned and the skies were parted and everything was right with the world. Go Neotropic. Go Mr Brubaker. God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater.

Happiness is being there when your beloved three year old cousin has the first Play-doh experience of her life.

Let's see how long we can go with out making eye contact with anyone.

Life's too short to spend all your time in one place planning your future, when most of the people you love and care about are somewhere else.

electric string bass + distortion = happy fun times.

Speaking of cats, you're the coolest one ever.

Stomp to my beat. Now blitz. Ba-dow.

how her eyes connected with the bridge of her nose, and the curve of her eyebrows, and how her jaw connected to her neck.

In California, they put avocado on anything even remotely resembling a BLT.

A little about sports clubs, I sure don't like 'em. Full of scary old ladies who had too much plastic surgery and whispers whispers about everyone who knows everybody, and middle aged guys with silly cars that cost way too much to indicate any secure self image.

Sample, sample, cut, she wailed.

Let's say, for example, a watermelon falls from the sky and hits my friend Zach on the head. Was that always going to happen?

Socrates: I know everything.
His girlfriend: Where do you think this relationship is going?
Socrates: (runs)

So drink it in. Then more. Take it all. Everything. Every last drop.
And, no matter what, remember.

Where my fingers go when you hit them with a keyboard.

Ever since I came upon a rabbit with a keg, I realized there was more to life than known within my head. So I pulled a mountain off a shelf and took a pint of cider, and I made my way to catch an elf but fell down right beside her. She looked at me with almond eyes and touched me apple shimmer, and it was then I knew for sure my world was lost forever. She laughed as if she knew what she had done and flew away, and I am searching for her still, just like I am today. Oh.

"If once in this world I win a moment with thee, I will trample on both worlds, I will dance in triumph forever." Jalaluddin Rumi

"The Universe loves art. Make some, and she'll take care of you." --Michael Dean

My eyes almost watered up while I was looking at the Monet.

good great damn monkeys I missed my tired little car.

We mostly know comic books because they kept us sane for the 3 month tour/hell of Syria we lived through one summer when we were stranded without a visa (the passportish thing, not the credit card) while trying to move to Saudi Arabia... and then the four years after that where we were actually in the Middle East, which wasn't hellish at all but still involved a lot of boredom.

I have been a lot of things, but completely understood is not one of them.

"Be water, my friend." -Bruce Lee

It's sultry, but it needs some fire. Big fires. Deep, probing fires. Fires of the hips, you know. They swing in base.

Current mood: mood backwards is "doom"

make the world a better place to listen to.

There's only one goddamn thing you can truly say is yours that no one can take away ever, and that is your word. Or honor, or whatever you want to call it.

"Are those guys gay, or just Italian?"

But in all this understanding of things, sometimes I feel like it's all way too dense to take in. Sometimes I just wanna be a kid again, where a kite means flying and sidewalks go square crack square and everybody is a somebody new. And parents weren't people. They were your parents. Since when did they become "the people who raised you," as opposed to just "Mom and Dad?" What the hell. What a thing, this growing up thing we do.

Shall I strike at it with my partisan?
Do, if it will not stand.
'Tis here!
'Tis here!
(Exit Ghost)
'Tis gone.

So all the girls and me and the one other guy who was there went to the pool dressed in nothing but towels and a smile and went for a little swim. But oh, it didn't stop there. We didn't just hop in and out, we played sharks and minnows in the total buff and stuff had a merry good time for a couple hours. Then later we figured, hey, we'd gone this far, why bother with clothes for the rest of the night? So we just chilled naked back at the apartment, we danced around to music and gave mock lap dances to each other and made out a little, really just all sorts of totally good college nudeness.

Dear Over-Priced Textbooks:
You die. You die and go to hell.
Love xoxoxoxox,
Paul

I love strip poker, but was shy about a scat solo in class. Paul in a nutshell, there.

God I'm going to make so much music this year. I don't know how I'll have time for it all.

"In that direction," the Cat said, waving its right paw round, "lives a Hatter: and in that direction," waving the other paw, "lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad."
"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."

throught

OH GOD, THE IDIOTS, THE MORONS, THE WEAK AND FOOLHARDY, THEY COME IN DROVES, THEY COME IN GAGGLES, THEY COME IN TROUPES OF BASSACKWARDS PACKS, THEY DO! THEY HOARDE LIKE MONGOLS AND FLINT LIKE RAIN AND THEY'RE COMING AT ME FROM ALL SIDES, BEOW!

we quickly moved to outside in the pouring, beautiful, sandpaper killingmovingcrystalspoon rain. Mmmm. Savvy dripping wetness.

"Procrastination is like masturbation: at first it feels really good, until you realize you've just fucked yourself."

Hildegard of Bingen, O Pastor Animarum:
O shepherd of souls,
O first voice
by which we have all
been created:
may you,
may you now be willing
to release us
from our miseries
and our frailties.

"Lift me up out of this illusion, Lord. Heal my perception that I may know only reality and only you." -Bill Hicks.

Do you know that feeling you get when you've just climbed a tree, and you're standing on the tallest branch, and you can feel your body wanting to jump? I'm not talking about suicide. I'm talking about jumping. You're legs want to go, and you have to stand there going, no, that's a terrible idea, cut it out. It's that same thing where you have to keep your hands from turning the wheel into oncoming traffic sometimes, or physically resist the instinct to become the wind at the top of a cliff. I've always wondered what that is. Maybe it's that it's impossible to understand the consequences of the last thing we'll ever do. Unless you're in the mood to be reassuring in that Livejournal way, then you know exactly what I'm talking about. I think it's a metaphor, except I can't for the life of me imagine what for.

ride ze shoopuf?

we are like a quarry, we rock so much.

I wonder if the old Zen masters were like really bored a lot of the time.

when i was in fifth grade, i tried to draw a picture of this creature that lived everything.

And at the concert, in Paranoid Android, Thom said, "Rain down, rain down on me," and people, it did. While he was singing rain down on me, it was raining down on me. On us. It was one of those moments. We reveled the in the perfect storm, the raindrops that fell on our upturned faces from a great height. It was beautiful. To the utmost.

"People hate evil much more than they love good. Pay more attention to the good, Martin." -The film "Luther"

Speaking of concentrate, I sure can't.

I'm talking foibles and atom bombs. Sex and loathing. You're guilty, you. Deal. Be aware. Be a problem, not the solution. Silence is golden, little man.

Did he love her? No. Did she love him? Nope. But damned if they didn't try.

Uma: Our reputations preceed us.
Gogo: Don't they?

so raise your fists up high, fellow vagabonds and thieves, bring your torches and the wings on your shoulders, and let's give em one for the picture books.

Ok here's what I want to do. I want to go to Breckenridge with my family, like we used to be, before the divorce, before my brother's shit, before my aunts and uncles got all divorced themselves, and had children and alimonies to fight for and lives to try and salvage and rivalries to curb. This will be in the dead of winter. It will be freezing cold outside and in the two story cabin we've rented it will be dimly lit by the fire in the large cobblestone fireplace that we're all hovering near. There will be enough instant hot chocolate for everyone to have more than one cup with all the marshmallows they please. Outside there will be the tiny sort of snowmen young children with very small hands build and an imprint of my uncle's knee in the huge block of snow that never melted because it's in the crux of the house's wall and the stairway and stays in the shadows all day. The air these nights will be crisp cut cold and the stars will number in thousands between the branches of the stripped winter trees like a Japanese painting. We'll sleep in simple stacked bunkbeds beneath slanted ceilings on the second floor by night and ski and snowbord by day, eat hot food in lodges and flex our sore ankles from our ski boots and watch the mountains coast by from lifts that just barely miss the tree tops.
I'd rather I was there. Instead I'm here stressing about futures and deadlines and numbers called grades that my teachers make up.

I had a thouight. Since I don't like complaining, I decided on a solution to my problem. It involves sandwiches.

This 16th Century class is a study of Bach. You know you're good when they make you an entire century.

"It occurred to me by intuition, and music was the driving force behind that intuition. My discovery was the result of musical perception". -Albert Einstein on his theory of relativity. Thanks mord.

A sunrise is so much different when you stay up late enough to see one, as opposed to waking up early enough for one.

I just want to say, Thank you, Leonard Cohen, for writing this Hallelujah song for the rest of us. Your version is touching. But Jeff's version is gorgeous like a desert thunderstorm.

Mark my words. And... Twain!

In case I haven't mentioned it, I really dislike my LJ name. I liked it for about fifteen minutes after I chose it, until I realized it also sounded a lot like I was trying to be some superhero playa by night or something. I meant it to mean that I'm an insomniac musician. night player. See? But yeah, I done fucked it up. Gawrsh.

Once again, kellybeans shows me what it's really like to rock. The uberspecialist ever.

If I had to describe Virgil Fox in one word, it would be "takes a lot more than one word to describe how good this fucking guy played him some organ."

we'll defy biochemistry
be our own work of art.
for none to see
'cept you
and me

on a more down to earth note, i've decided to move to the moon.

so I told her that was something I definitely would like to have changed about my SunTrust experience, better Candy Corn, and this girl on the phone who was interviewing me was laughing so hard she could barely finish said interview, and I think I made her day, and I know she actually wrote the candy corn thing into the comments section too, because I actually heard her typing it out over the phone while we were laughing together.

I am so tired, period. Let me rest.

drinking beer will get me about as drunk as lowfat kool-aid at a family picnic.

(Desk = Sex)
And how!

i will hold you while you sleep, but i won't sleep myself. instead i'll listen to you breathe, that funny breath only dreamers take. my arm will get uncomfortable but i won't move it for fear of waking you. i'll feel that thing men get when we realize for that moment just how perfectly your form fits inside ours, like poetry, and i will covet my good fortune that tonight, that moment lasts as long as i can lie still, wide awake and trying to take breaths that match yours.

"WHO DAT CALLED MAH NAME?!" -the Kraken, channeled by slowmack.

"Remember me, my dear sweet friend, when another woman sings and plays songs on her knees before you!" -Song of the Gypsy Girl, Tchaikovsky

I want so badly to catch mono. Then I could have an excuse for doing so poorly.

I'm about to say something important. I think I really am depressed, at least in part. I came to this conclusion today when I realized I literally couldn't get out of bed. I was so sad. I had slept through another couple of alarms and had no memory of it, even though I woke up on my own a mere hour late. My motivation for anything but to write music is gone now. I don't want to pursue these girls I meet. I don't want to drive anymore. I don't want to stand up any longer than I have to. I'm sick of TV and I'm too busy to work enough to earn the money I know my family needs me to have for me to not be a burden pretty soon here. I may fail a class for the first time in my life, indeed I may fail two. I almost want to fail. A part of me wants to crash and burn so I can feel something/anything that would remind me of the horrible things I'm trying to avoid by working so hard. If that makes any sense. I am tired, people. Oh so. And how. I'm tired of people laughing at my jokes that are only sort of funny. I don't understand it. I'm sick of hearing about which friend had a wreck this week.

Sad Truth No. 003: Growing up is finally realizing what everyone else has been bitching about all your life.

Dear Every-auditorium-theater-seat-maker-ever,
Believe it or not, the majority of people have at least one arm on both sides.
So, when you put only one armrest between each chair...
Somethin's gotta give.
And it ain't gonna be me.

the witch's bathtub covered in dust.

we were wrong to think the shed was dead

Saw the final installment of the performance of the piece i wrote for the dance school, this was the actual concert where there's an audience of strangers and things. they cheered!

I think I'm gonna shower now. I sure skipped that little luxury yesterday morning, since I didn't really have one (a morning) till like 7 pm, when I woke up from a three hour nap. Ah, college.

Holy Christ! How many of you knew about The Mars Volta already? Huh? Fess up! How many of my friends new about this fucking band and never told me?

They walk to the dance floor, and begin to embrace in rhythm as this Dirty Three song I'm listening to continues to play.

Rants with no purpose = Happy Paul.

Are you kidding me? Who finds true love in Hollywood?

Is it bad that I'm so white but still think Craig David is off the hook? Hm. But hey, at least it snowed last night. And is snowing now. Nature says calm the fuck down. I am calm. Calm and sad. But doing okay.

Captain Planet has a mini-mullet, and I don't care.

Home is where your heart resides?
Well looka here!
Where'er I go,
there my heart has followed.

A male wolf will travel up to 500 miles at the mere scent of a compatible female in heat. -zachariason

The problem with the future is it keeps turning into the present. -calvin and hobbes

I have the second hottest scarf in the history of time, thanks to Nikki "Best Person Ever" Lau, aka baitbunny. I have the second hottest because my brother got the hottest, because his is just like mine except friggin purple. You don't get much hotter than purple. Mine's a nicely sexy red though. I think I'm going to take up dogfighting now.
World War Flying Ace,
Paul "The Red Baron" Matthis

Tonight was phenomenal. movies and music videos, texmex, old friends, a golf course, a tree, shoes, laughter, laughter, and laughter. These are the times I live for. Would that everyday was like this one, all smiles and planes of understanding.

What a perfect thing to be able to say,
beauty like today.
Here's to a future like tonight;
Drink, laugh away.

Then, the trail forest hill thing off the Moore Ln extension with the pond, the kudzu graveyard, the house eaten alive, and the water tower. Fucking great. I jumped off a cliff and found a geode, but not in that order.

wish I was British, so I could pronounce things like supernovarin the sky.

Hi! I'd like to introduce everybody to a few new faces around here!
The first is Thag, the Asshole Womanizer. The second is Aluben, the Idiot Philosopher, and the third is, the Bob.
Be warned...

Sleeping with the lights on, that's the sun.

But it's cool to say you were in one in college, and that you were a professional "vocal percussionist."

maniac mcgee
my teacher is an alien
frecklejuice
the hobbit
the lion the witch and the wardrobe
where the wild things are
the giving tree
one fish two fish red fish blue fish
anything by the berenstein bears
the black cauldron
randall's wall
ms. frisby and the rats of nimh
Matilda, or James and the Giant Peach
Sideway Stories from Wayside School
Tales of a Fourth-Grade Nothing
Superfudge
A Wrinkle in Time
Anything by Tommy DePaola
The Best Christmas Pageant Ever
Bridge to Terabithia
My Side of the Mountain
Where the Red Fern Grows
The Black Stallion
The Phantom Tollbooth
The Wind in the Willows
Charlotte's Web
Stuart Little
The Mouse and the Motorcycle
Number the Stars
The Giver

Dear 15 year-old Paul,
You had no idea. And you knew that.

"Fuck you, dear."

Yuri, says I, For every gravestone you see with two names on it rather than one, that's just one more story of love that lasted a lifetime.

You haven't really lived until you've seen a Sioux Indian writing on a chalkboard.

I was just asked the question, "So, do you know anything about yogurt?" I mean, what do you say to that?

This is the type of thing I live for. The type of thing Man created College for. Holy crap, I've had the best week. I'm so on a high right now. Watch my heart implode with love for everything. Hey. Yeah. A mad powerhouse of love like seven freight trains on a sugar high. Pow.

Dreams are still pretty mysterious things. I love how everyone in the world has them. What does Bush dream of? David Spade? Saddam Hussein? Eddie Izzard? Your last taxi driver? Your best friend? I mean, dear god, what does Steve Paul Molyneux dream at night? Huge.

It was in their fucking cards, man.

God is in the ratio.

Anyways, what I'm saying is, Go back to sleep America, here's American Gladiators, watch that. Oh wait, that show got cancelled. We call it CNN now. HAHAHAHA.

I decided that the mind has categories it tells you to remember things in terms of, but sometimes when you experience an intense newness in just the right way, it creates a new place to file things away out of necessity, and that first one is just there, what it is.

If there was ever a dead composer I would want to hug more than any other, it would definitely be Beethoven.

hi! my name is paul, and I'm here to serenade your face.

on the way home, i saw two really young kids holding each others face in their hands to stay warm.

greetings, sinners!

Getting lost is a great past time. It was me and my music and discovering new places. Nothing better. Something in the air tonight, I don't know, but when the wind from my car window hit the back of my neck I was shot back four years so completely. The dryness of your eyes from the wind, the floating feeling of not knowing what was beyond your headlights, unfamiliar street signs, terrain and stars of someone else's home town. The music washing over, like the waves in the fields of grass as I coasted by.

"what music must give birth to orgasm and revolution?"

Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, Webber's Phantom of the Opera on vinyl, Dire Straits, vinyl, Marvin Gaye, vinyl, my busrides to school in the morning, Weird Al Yankovic, Disney songs, The soundtrack to Jurassic Park, 2Unlimited, Y'all Ready for This?, Sublime self-title, Prodigy, Fat of the Land, Virtuosity soundtrack, The Mortal Kombat soundtrack: KMFDM, Orbital, Josh Wink, Metallica's Nothing Else Matters, Live, Throwing Copper, Crystal Method, Propellerheads, Soul Coughing, Led Zeppelin, Tool, The Matrix soundtrack, Radiohd's OK Computer, Squarepusher, fucking Audio recorder for windows 95, Bach's Little Fugue in G Minor and Cornelius '2010', the ken burns jazz documentary, sound forge.

The phrase "I have to trim my assbanana" was used repeatedly under alcohol's strong and welcome influences.

I hated America, that first year back.

I cannot and will not learn to act that way, just so two people can enjoy hedonism for a bit and then bitch to their friends about it later.

I'm a different man from that kid in fifth grade dancing his heart out for the masses who mocked him whenever he spoke on the bus.

The main theme here, as you can tell, is not about having as much sex as possible. I hate that. It's people. I don't think I'm that great at anything except understanding people. I am this way because of the way I grew up. My ability to get close to someone after such a short time and feeling the same closeness towards them comes from a burning desire to understand everything about them, to understand why they are beautiful and to learn about myself through them. To grok another. To talk to them, to have them say what they mean and know that I will be listening, that's what I live for. And as I got older, I came to realize that sometimes, when two people can talk about anything between each other, physicality can grow into a beautiful extension of that bond. Now that I'm older, people understand that more, and some people my age finally have the ability share that with me on a deeper ground than simply kissing in the parking lot until curfew.

From the perspective of the drop of water within the stream, life is motion; life is a robbery of everything that once defined the drop of water as such. Dropness is lost, but Self remains, in that death that is the impact which the lives of all raindrops must suffer to end. Though the sister brother molecules become one with that of the raindrop, such Oneness is not that of affinity to certain contexts. The Self is lost, replaced by awareness of assimilation, awareness of motion, dark currents, of distinct and justified loss of oneself. And yet, this awareness forces the aware to redefine the Self, what creates the ability to state, I am I am.

Close your eyes, bretheren, and dream.

This microphone was so old, its pacemaker was overpowering my vocals. HUZZAH! OH yeah. Christ.

"I just envision you becoming like a feather in the wind, letting fate take you from place to place so that you can touch other peoples' lives the way that you have touched mine."

The essence of art is seeing possibility in empty space. The secret to inspiration is knowing that there is no such thing as empty space.

There is one place from which everything is the most beautiful.

Because the world itself is a work of art, and we, during the brief speck of a moment in time we are given, are just trying to return the favor.

In other news, I graduate in 27 days. I'm more anxious than anything. Get here already! I wanna go! Three bets says I look back on this entry and say, Sigh, if only I'd known how precious college was... Hey, Future Me... Fuck you! HahahHAHahahAha. Humans forget pain. This sucks! Well okay it's pretty great too. But you're ready, man. Go go go. Next step and all. Whoosh! Buju out. Yeah.

"It was then these conditions had reached their climax that the Ku Klux Klan burst upon the scene like Elijah of old."

on top of that, she uses Windows ME, the satan of all everystuffs.

The second I opened the wrapper, my nose told me to find the nearest bottomless pit and banish this greasy wad of crap into the depths of eternal fallingness.

I've become un-desensitized to filth.

And tonight, when I saw Lianna dance her ribbon, I was once again that child I'd lost to the audience so many years ago. She is so flawless, so wonderfully sexy, so everything I wish I was. But then, she makes me feel like I am. Maybe that's why we work so well together, no? Not sure. It doesn't matter. What matters is, that we do. Que nous faisons.

He writes like what we students are trying to discover, sort of marriage between dissonance and consonance. Which is music dork talk for: between fucking weirdness and prettifyingness.

we are creatures of probability. When someone argues that we have faith in everything, they say things like you don't know the sun will rise tomorrow, you just have faith that it will. Dr. Huneycutt taught me that this is misleading. We don't believe that out of the blue. Through experience, we learn that it is very, very probable that the sun will rise tomorrow. Few things are more so.

This made me think of how Richard Pryor in his early standup referred to himself as a nigger and urged other black people to be proud to do so as well, then came back from his first trip to Africa quoting Marcus Garvey, "There are no niggers in Africa." When his wife asked him what happened during his visit that caused the racially inclined about face, Richard took his wife out and pointed to the stars, and told her to point to the one she thought was a nigger. Boy, do I love Richard Pryor.

The Rescue! Jon was so ecstatic, he violated a nearby street sign.

Then we drove away. Quickly. Very quickly. Not many know this, but Steve's car is capable of warp speed. WHOOSH! If right now you're wondering how that's possible, you've obviously never met Steve in person.

Whether he leaned in or she drew him near, no one could know. But they kissed then, for a long time. They never made it to the party that night.

I am always amazed at the unconscious perception of people. They suck at consciously perceiving things, but just like every human ever knows whether the moon is truly full or just a hair not quite, an artist cannot hide themselves when truly creating beauty, and when it's there, really there, people always just know. She plays like the full moon.

Do you think, if that race were life, and he were between his fall and the finish line, would he ask to take that fall back?

conna's mom: 1, dennis rodman: 0

true, but it's too late. i already fucked five somewhere in the vicinity of twelve, and hence five and i are not on speaking terms. probably because i is bitter for being impossible, and five is so goddamn snippy for its multiples being so easily divisble.

Currently in Jackson, TN. Tomorrow is the last day my little honda will ever see the state of TN.

There was a man, and his name was Junction.

Lambuth is a very old college, and you can feel the history just walking through some of the older buildings, especially the Chapel, where I played a little piano on the beautiful grand one last time.

I always said, If I ever go to Albuquerque, I'm gonna make a left turn just so I could do what Bugs Bunny never could.

"Which was all a big relief to Maniac, finding out he wasn't really white, because the way he figured, white was about the most boring color of all."

All of Troy: SHIT! (Burns)

"You cannot write for children. They're much too complicated. You can only write books that are of interest to them." ~Maurice Sendak thanks confusedgrape

I must find this funny, I must find this funny.

I think I pity too much. It isn't nice to pity everything you come across. It'd be better to just dislike it and move on, and easier too, I think. People don't always like being felt sorry for. But I'm like a broken record sometimes. I should change this journal's name to, "A lot of people I feel sorry for and why they shouldn't be afraid."

Socrates says that love is a madness of the heavens. Which is beautiful.

"For there is no light of justice or temperance or any of the higher ideas which are precious to souls in the earthly copies of them: they are seen through a glass dimly; and there are few who, going to the images, behold in them the realities, and these only with difficulty."

"The soul through all her being is immortal, for that which is ever in motion is immortal; but that which moves another and is moved by another, in ceasing to move ceases also to live."

We were eleven, and she was allergic to chocolate.

Only through a looking glass is not a stranger made.

And this sentence, right here I suppose, will be a test sentence, as a joke to myself, to show that no one actually read this far. Admit it, even if you are reading it, you skimmed. Hahaha. I win. Last entry almost went without comments, and I was excited. One day, I'll write an entry long and pointless enough to deter even the most determined comment poster. I just know it'll happen. Boy, sure is great it's my own journal, and I can write whatever I want. Comments are funny things.

We were happy because we got to watch dinosaurs with lasers attached to their heads all day and Mom and Dad were happy because we weren't breaking anything, including but not limited to each other's bones, heads, or cartilage.

I have got to find something to slow things down, or I swear I'm moving to Lhasa. I'll be a throat-singer and learn White Crane Kung Fu and make amazing fucking Tibetan electronic music with naught but a laptop and a microphone. Don't fucking mess with me.

The answer is really that while the speed-up effect can get way ahead of you sometimes, if you are a thinking creature, all you have to do is stop, and look at yourself, ignore the outside world and your memory of it, and say, "Yeah, but look how much I've changed." And everything snaps back into perspective.

I made music on my new laptop at 31,000 feet and felt like a badass. I also felt cramped, because I was sitting next to a huge assed Jamaican woman. Nice lady, but she snored. Next to this fat Jamaican lady was a beautiful French woman in her late twenties who kept smiling at me over the mound of Jamaica's gently heaving belly. I was seat 60E. If I had been 60F, I'd have been next to her. Just one seat over. With my last breath, o Fate, I spit at thee. Ptooie.

Bahrain has the most distinct smell of any country of whose smell I am aware.

Ngoma is to see the rhythm and hear the dance.

There were stars too, and it wasn't even that hot, and at one of the rest stops I climbed this huge freaking dune and ran down and fell at the bottom, as per usual.

People pat themselves on the back for this aspect of current art forms as if they're the first to do it, but these people are blindsighted and, more importantly, dumb. I think the main problem is that no one is compelled to make fun of themselves nearly as much as they should.

HEY! OPAH!
YA SALAM! YA SALAM!

no one ever said sitting around waiting for love to happen was the meaning of life.

Did I mention I taught my cousin Anas to skip rocks while I was in Cyprus? He's ten or eleven, I think. I realized that after I die, I'll still be around any time he skips a rock.

I think the definition of surreal is a thing that never feels like it started or stopped, because then it doesn't really fit anywhere and there's no way to look at it from any other angle other than being there when it happens. Savvy being there.

"Lady from high society who thinks she can reserve a place in heaven." -Georges Roualt

Every time he like blinked an eye I fell off the floor and hit the ceiling laughing.

Xanth books are a childhood obsession that never got the memo it was supposed to end when childhood did.

That's all bigotry is, you know. Expecting a certain thing from a certain kind of person.

That's what postmodernism is. It's people getting used to the unexpected. And that's good. There used to be a way things went and that was that and people got real angry when things didn't go as planned. Now pretty much everyone agrees that you can't expect anything, ever, because you'll probably be wrong. That's almost a guarantee.

Welcome to Mount Groovius. This is the house that funk built. Shit. HAHA! MUUUSIC! BEOING!

our house looked so small and the tree in front of it was so huge. that tree is probably my giving tree, though it bears no apples, and once it was the same height i was. now it dwarfs the little house of my childhood, which now has much nicer hedges and no more magnolia tree because it just wouldn't grow and only bloomed once every few years. though i remember my first magnolia bloom. and i remember when i climbed a magnolia tree, many times larger, with my first love freshman year of college. more or less my last magnolia tree, if you ask me. jesus.

I'll just say I pick my ideals pragmatically. I don't see why that has to be a contradiction. Humanity is true and Truth is beautiful and you have to breathe air to live. Works for me.

The Oog is silent.

sweem

Ah, young racism. When a parent's lameass comment turns childish innocence to bullyism.

you are the most beautiful thing you will ever have the pleasure to experience.

For a hundred years there was one missionary pueblo called Los Angeles that farmed a little. Then the gold rushed in, and all the gold rushees got here and thought to themselves, holy shit! This is a really big desert.

Because see, I love it at night. The interstates are barren and the smog can't hide, because it reflects all the city lights into a brilliant orange, sometimes. The beaches are empty and all the store lights go off. And I'm wandering around the streets, walking like I shouldn't, and I'm thinking my God, it's just everywhere. It isn't fake. It's people trying to make it, just like anywhere else.
And I love it.

Being broke in California is just about the worst thing to be in California, besides dead or, worse, non-union. But hey.

"I love the smell of napalm in the morning."

I wonder if, when the last fog has finally rolled in, will I find a darkness with you in it, at last?

i find it interesting that i've been officially awake for exactly twenty hours and twenty five minutes, and i'm only mildly tired. and i think most of that is from the alcohol.

SPIDEYCAMEL!

Rain smells funny in LA.

Anyways, I was whistling and pushing the cart with the stack of film neg past the high rollers and I thought, I bet they don't whistle very much.
And that was that.

Did you know blood moons come from the period of the eclipse in which the only light being reflected off the moon is from the sunsets and sunrises around the Earth? That's one of the most poetic things I've ever heard.

Not that moment. This moment. The moment it always is.

walk in the rain as if it wasn't raining.

Somewhere in my head there is something beating against my skull, trying to get out, and it hasn't yet.

"'Animals are sad as a rule,' she went on. 'And when a man is sad - I don't mean because he has a toothache or has lost some money, but because he sees, for once in a way, how it all is with life and everything, and is sad in earnest - he always looks a little like an animal. He then looks not only sad, but more right and more beautiful than usual. That's how it is, and that's how you looked, Steppenwolf, when I saw you for the first time.'" - Hermine, Steppenwolf, Hermann Hesse

Look at this place. It's a city on Mars. It's a squat and dusty little haven, sprung up like a faery ring where nothing else could grow.

"Yes it was autumn, it was fate, that had given the summer rose so full and ripe a scent." -Steppenwolf

11. Fuck. If he didn't stop with 10, there's no telling what number he plans to end with.

as if I was living in the rut of a wagon wheel that had skirted the brink of an abyss.

Finally got my headmod fixed today.

Happiness is your first futon.

I plan to purchase a civic hybrid that runs on electricity and love and drive across the country forever, kissing girls and hanging pretty dolls from small trees. We can save the environment and live in each others' ribcages all at once on a Sunday.

It's why I've always, always, had the feeling that everyone who knows me is just waiting for me to fail.

Walking past a church, I feel I am hounded on all sides. I carry my horn and pull up my jacket collar, to no avail, and no pair of reflecting eyes with which to concede, to solicize, to seduce. A very, very spooky feeling has just come up around me. What, joker! What, beggar! Not once have I denied you, and now, and now. How!

A toast to all. To people and friends, to hitchikes and road trips, to Anchorage, Fairbanks, and sweet Billie Cook's, and to the Aurora, my beloved coldest blanket, my memory. A toast to you, and to you, and to fate, and to a bridge beneath the stars.

A million tiny strings connected me to the world; they moved when I did, tugging me.

And I understood, finally, that love, of the kind no word can ever express, is oneness, and loving yourself, utterly, because for those you love there is no difference between yourself and them.

And I realized that perfection is impossible, but that hope is the breath of life, and in that distinction lies an inevitable perfection.

"We apologise for the inconvenience." -God

It seems like it's obvious that without something to pour into the world, the world won't have anything to pour back into you

You are blowing this way too out of proportion, Paul, love is all you need and soon those crow's feets are gonna be like riverbeds on Mars and all you'll have is memories and a few mix cd's and boy then you'll really get it. Get out there and meet people or when you're old you'll be one of those un-selfactualized buffoons spouting things about how finding a good woman is the most important thing in life. Sucks for the gays then, don't it, old codger, and hey it's great how far you've come but everything you know is still wrong.

Everyone knows that Einstein was a star that burned so beautifully bright, but most don't really talk about spacetime. They talk about how he got a D in math. Because that's the secret.

So, you can feel the little pieces flaking off your soul, you can feel enlightenment draining from you again as you read. My developing brain breathes in deeply until my cup o'erfloweth, and then, crap, little enlightenment juice streams out pellmell like Tom the Cat drinking water after Jerry's cowboy cousin fills him up with bullet holes. But this isn't a cartoon or a movie or a metaphor. This is real life. And real life is a struggle. And the most beautiful poetry is that the struggle fills you up just the same as any tiny victory. No one would play that game if the marbles just fell on their own.

All creatures, no matter their color or temperament, feel the cold of the glass in the mountain, which radiates far beyond the ocean at the world's end. Though few are so close as the seven faeries to its heart, none can resist the pull of that which steals warmth from the whole of the universe. Some see the glow from deep within the mountain through the glass. Some, like the tall, white faery, see only how the glow is fading.

and there are some who are in the teeny white center of the multitude of thin black lines that make up a billion circles in a double-helix venn diagram of everyone, some who strive for the unattainable, who dream impossible dreams, who put back into the world what little they can in gratitude for a chance to live and as an sos screaming CALLING ALL DREAMERS into the sky and these people are my friends. when i see them in tennessee or when they move to la or visit me or i visit them or talk to them on the phone or rip apart thrift shop toys with them or sit with them on an idle rooftop of Franklin or fill a room with noise poems and horse hairs or hear their music or talk of light or wish them well on dire straits or write about them in a text file they'll never read or drink cheap beer with them or buy them ice cream at night or show them my apartment or open myself up and let slide a torrent of troubles and they look and me and go hey paul, that sucks. i know that they're out there and i think my god, how lucky i am to have found them. found you. found us, and we are alone and that's okay because we have each other.
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