Category Archives: Nostalgia

the clocks are ticking…shifting in and out of sync 2

> Fischerspooner – Ritz 107
> Nine Inch Nails – Closer (Deviation)

I’m about 20 pages from finishing Diary. It’s very good, but I can’t help feeling like it’s just… book-TV, for want of a better term. Pesudo-intellectual pulp. But maybe that’s just my mood. It doesn’t really hold together as well as his other works. But what can I say? I’m not as good a writer as Chuck is.

With the thought of moving, I look around my room at these things that have been surrounding me for years… like my big painting. My only painting. I just painted it and never really painted again. It expressed everything I needed to express visually. That and canvases are really expensive. And I never got inspired again.

For the last few days I’ve been playing around with the idea of starting to write fiction again. I sorta have this idea about the character who writes obituaries for a newspaper and everything he buys he only thinks about in terms of the amount of people that need to die for him to buy a certain thing.

My music is skipping what with the voice-recognition and a bunch of other programs I’m running. My processor is chugging along as much as it can, but even with the hyperthreading, the single-core Pentium has limits, even though it’s a 3.0GHz. It’s not sufficient. My machine is officially obsolete. But I’ve had obsolete computers my whole life and loved them to death, so I think that Navarre will have a long life yet to come, until the Intel-based Macs come out. I really hope they rock. Maybe getting that expensive sound card will solve all of these audio issues. With my current plans, I don’t think I’m going to be finding out anytime soon. I can’t believe it. The 14th. I guess it’s what I’ve always wanted, but it involves giving up everything that I have already. Giving up Crescent City. Hmm. I wonder if I’ll miss it.

I’m poor here, and I will be poor in Sacramento. But I would rather be poor there. Already I’m looking around my room picturing what things will fit in the boxes I have and which things will not. I’m wondering if I’ll be able to fit all of my possessions in my car. I’m looking at the titanic pile of DVD ROMs, 5 1/2 inch floppy disks, unwatched DVDs, etc. breeding in the pile beside my computer desk. I’m going to have to sort through everything I own. I feel tired just thinking about it. But I did take a shower and now I feel rejuvenated, even though I don’t know for what. Perhaps I should start packing my books. I do have a few small boxes I could use. Or I should give up. Sleep, and surrender myself to Saturday. Giving up sounds like a good plan. I need some failure to balance out the ostensible success of leaving my dad’s house.

Categories: Happiness,Leaving Bouville,Nostalgia

Published:
August 19, 2005 – 11:37 pm
Author:
By A.

creation. destruction. creation. destruction. creation. destruction. creation. destruction. 1

> Miss Kittin and the Hacker – You and Us
> Random Fischerspooner
> Random Peaches
> Random Meat Beat Manifesto

Today sucked. I’m going to owe my Dad $1800. I’m going to have to call the lady at the car repair place tomorrow and tell her that I want the rebuilt transmission with the six-month warranty. I’m going to go to Sacramento and sell it. Pay my dad back. Pocket the difference. Save up for a sweet computer.

I built the computer of my high-end but slightly conservative dreams on alienware.com, and it was around $3500. It had a dual core 3.8GHz processor with hyper threading technology. It supported DDR2, the new hella fast RAM. All sorts of bells and whistles. I can’t afford bells and whistles right now. Although I do have $800 saved up. I talked to my boss today about taking on some more work, and I’m going to do two new tasks, one that I will hate and one that won’t be hard at all. I’m subjecting myself to that task because I want to leave this town so bad.

Hopefully, I will be making about $400 per pay period. That will definitely allow me to move by Nine Inch Nails in September, but I might stay a month or so more just so I can buy myself a Vespa or car or something. Why did this transmission thing have to happen now? Now I effectively don’t have a car. I went to Wal-Mart today got a back pack, a bike lock, and I drink holder for my bike. I’m going to be riding it a lot. My dream is to be able to ride my bike to and from work, even though it is 10 miles each way. I would save about $180 a month, but I’m not sure if I would be able to live like that. I could definitely do it if I lived in town, but I don’t. At least I can blame all my problems on my father for living in this shithole in the middle of nowhere.

Fuck.

My mom left today, she was in hysterics. Well actually, she leaves at 4 a.m. tonight. But since I didn’t have a car, I had to get a ride home with her friend. But at least I am prepared for tomorrow. I’m going to ride my bike home from work tomorrow. I’ve got my backpack and my water bottle holder and my cell phone, so I’m set. I guess.

I saw Joe when I went to Wal-Mart. It’s so depressing to say goodbye to someone for ever and ever. You lie to yourself that you will send e-mails, but you just get so involved in the drama and bullshit of your life that all you can do is complain about yourself on your blog… Or at least that’s what I do. I can’t talk to the people that I love over the Internet because it gets me very depressed. I know that’s a very selfish way to act, but I just can’t handle it. I’m balancing school and work and all of these horrible things keep happening to keep me in this town that I hate so much and around people that I don’t like. I can’t take on the responsibility of being lonely too.

This is my epic battle against Crescent City. I will win or I will die. One or the other. And I know which one it’s going to be. I am going to fucking win. I’m going to beat Paranoia on trick. I am going to get a master’s degree. I am an atom and nothing can break me down. Fuck everyone and everything that gets in my way.

On the good news side of things, I did finish Survivor. I hesitate to say it, but I’m growing tired of Chuck P.’s repetitive writing style. The book was great, but he just can’t break out of that flow. It’s fun for the first hundred pages, but I was just annoyed towards the end. He was just repeating random shit, like graffiti on bathroom stalls. What the fuck was the point?

I feel like a failure because I don’t have my car. I might not be able to take my kitty to Brookings to get his stitches taken out. I might not be able to see Amanda this weekend. Eh, fuck it. I’ll ride my bike out there if I have to…but it’s the ride back that creeps me out. It would be all too stereotypical to get run down by a drunk driver at 2 a.m.

I guess all of this is just fallout from the fact that I actually am deeply sad to see my mom go. Since we had that talk on the way to Bandon, I feel like I can really relate to her.

I’m all she has in this horrible world.

I’m so tawny. I had this raging erection at work today, it would have been so embarrassing had I had to get up. My mind was racing with all the hot guys I’d fucked and the ones I had yet to fuck. It really doesn’t help that I have a huge crush on one of my coworkers and with my brain being filled up with half-remembered scenes from pornos, I half-believe he’ll see my hard-on and just blow me right there in the office. I hate how I’m just a slave to my endocrine system. I hate how with enough sleepdep, porn and reality fuse into one hazy, ersatz peep show. I really want to become a eunuch, but my voice would get all high-pitched…and I heard it’s bad for your health.

But I can’t really think of another thing to take the place of sex in my trinity of passions: technology, sex, and literature.

Nothing really fits into that hole. Gardening? Maybe extreme sports, but then again I am very lazy and get into hysterics when I have injuries. One time I passed out at the sight of my own blood.

I really could feel the message of Survivor. We all have the same collective memory due to the television shows we all watched growing up, so everything we do is preprogrammed. There is no free will. Nothing is exciting anymore. It’s just another plot. More jamais vu. The only mystery left is death.

I haven’t reached that point, but I feel like it’s coming. Thirties perhaps. Maybe forties. That seems to be the age of all of Chuck’s characters.

My face is coated in a permanent layer of oil. I could fry chicken on my face. Billions of bacteria are using my face to fuck. That’s sort of hot, in a very…protozoan way. I think I’ll watch some porn. It will bring me out of this shitty mood and perhaps free me from a repeat of today’s embarrassment.

Categories: jamais vu,Melancholy,Nostalgia

Published:
August 16, 2005 – 10:53 pm
Author:
By A.

Once you’ve seen one penis demon, you’ve seen them all. 0

Okay. I need to write my own posts before I read other people’s entries. On the way home from Misty’s house I also was contemplating death and mortality. Mostly I was concerned about my blog and my web site and I really hope that someone be it my mother or something will keep paying my hosting costs (a paltry $7/month) and maybe blog one last post or something saying that I died and how I died. I would really want that. And put the URL in my obituary!!

And also, for the record… I do not want to be kept alive by artificial means. Keep me on the machine for one or two months or so if I might wake up, then just disconnect me. I don’t really know who would be paying my hospital bills though, so they would probably just unplug me from the start once they realized I didn’t have health insurance.

Oh yeah, I remember one more thing from last night’s get-together:

“Once you’ve seen one penis demon, you’ve seen them all.”

On the way home I started listening to the latest Garbage album Bleed Like Me and it brought back all sorts of memories about Ripley. I just keep wondering… did we actually have something? Was he using me? Does he still like me? If he moved out of his abusive boyfriend’s house, would we go out again? Does he still read my blog? The latter is probably the deciding factor in all the other questions.

I’m just sick of not being happy.

The visit to Misty’s house was not spectacular at all. The first 20 minutes of it she was watching a DVD of this retarded WB show about a doctor in some random Colorado town. The script was about as interesting as the shit I took a few hours ago. Slightly chunky and in two logs, one slightly smaller than the other, the show played on and on and on. The dialogue so contrived, unoriginal and puerile only Misty could find entertaining. So I vigorously made fun of it until the episode was over and I implored her to watch something else. I popped in Big Fish and she fell asleep halfway through it. We had almost nothing to talk about. I was utterly bored. I’m glad I’m home. But at least I have something to blog about.

I’m going to go read/go to sleep. Of course, there is a ubiquitous step that I have omitted. But in the spirit of last night’s two-hour conversation about dildos, I’m going to go jerk off! Woohoo!

Categories: Gossip,Happiness,Nostalgia

Published:
August 14, 2005 – 2:51 am
Author:
By A.

pick up the receiver, I’ll make you a believer 2

Work went okay today. My normal job was humdrum, except for I got to do a new thing. It was pretty easy, and something that I was supposed to do when I first started working there but they decided not to have me do it. Now that I’m not going to college, I actually have time to do it.

My new job was really fun and cool, I really bonded with Laurie, the lady there that is training me. She is totally cool. Imagine her as Roseanne, minus 50 lbs. and with red hair. We Bush-bashed. It was nice. And I demonstrated my utmost competence. Towards the end of the night when she got tired I was basically running the whole show.

Me and my mom went to the beach today, and I washed my car. It got totally caked with bird shit. And of course, since it got washed, it will get caked again tomorrow. I have such a headache. When I got home it looked like my dad had jotted down the name of someone at my work. How many fucking brain cells does it take for him to give them my cell phone number? How many? Stupid old man. Die and get it over with or give them my number. Bloody hell.

I talked with Selena today after I got off work, I really miss hanging out with her. I will call her after I get off work tomorrow to see if she wants to go to the fair. My mother sent me an e-mail saying she found someone to go on all the rides with me. She means well, but she doesn’t understand. I meant one of my friends. But I don’t have any friends. Not anymore. All I have is acquaintances. I haven’t talked to Joe since last week. For all I know, he could be in Portland. He’ll probably be a successful something or other, but still a Republican.

The more I think about it, the more I don’t feel like the Democrat/Republican battle matters. Now that I have money, I should get that Simone de Beauvoir novel All Men Are Mortal. From what I read about it, she metaphorically argues the point that people make the same mistakes over and over again. All the letters to the editor I read in the Triplicate, the crazed rantings of old men screaming at the tops of their lungs to make us forget the truth and pledge unconditional allegiance President Bush, they scare me. I’m sure at some small newspaper in 1940s Germany, the same letters were published. I fear we’re about to have World War III. And this time, there’s no one that can stand up to us. Hitler tried to take over the world to enslave it, we’re going to take it over to “set it free.”

Operation Iraqi Freedom, right?

Next on the list is Operation World Peace.

But don’t listen to me. I’m just a disposable American.

I wish Ripley would come online. I’m lonely. I don’t want to go to the fair tomorrow. I don’t want to go alone. And they don’t want to go with whoever my mother has found for me. That’s worse than going alone: going with someone your mother found for you.

I must stop listening to The Cure. It’s just making me weepy and emotional. But OMG I thought of the coolest memory when I was watching Daria tonight!

It was from back when I was going out with Taggart. He would come back from his job at the pizza place and I would crawl into his arms on the dilapidated sofa and breathe in the pizza aroma mixed with the Camels he smoked, mixed with his cologne. It was incredibly sexy. And I would just hold him as we watched movies thinking “I’m home. This is all I need. This is all I ever wanted.”

It was a nice time. But nothing good ever lasts. Well, I guess I should face it: the sex wasn’t so great. But at least I was emotionally fulfilled. And you can never really feel right having sex with bisexuals. In the back of my mind I always thought that he was imagining having sex with a chick. But he enjoyed doing a lot of things that are impossible in straight sex. That’s probably why he used me. The fact is, even if I was a hermaphrodite, he would still dump me and move on because he can’t be satisfied with one person.

Anyway, I shouldn’t be bringing all this old crap up. If you want to read the happiest posts ever in the whole history of my blog, look at the posts from late December or early January of 2003/2004.

I really need to find a way to hide all of my old posts, because the only time that I will find out if that insane freak Amanda B. is scouring my entries looking for dirt is if my boss asks me into his office. When I post this I will look into it.

I really need to go through every single post I’ve ever written and attempt to edit the offending ones. I’m sure there would only be two or three that would get me into trouble. But I have over 2000 posts. And let’s face it: that would take FOREVER.

I brought up my blog on the production computer (1.8GHz G5, whoo!) at my second job, and the text looked all weird and I could barely read it. Let it be known for all time: I don’t like serif fonts. They look funky unless you have a really good monitor. But I guess I can dislike it all I want, since I have no idea how to change it. Well, actually do have a pretty good idea but my wrists are killing me this week and I don’t feel like experimenting.

Do any of you guys have a problem reading stuff? I think I could bump up the text size a bit without too much trouble.

Anyway, I should probably wrap up this diatribe about my endless struggle against nothing. It’s 1:26 a.m. What’s that quote?

It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Google says it’s from Macbeth. I always thought it was some other writer. Hmm.

400 or so years later and we can’t say it any better. I need some sleep. A lot of sleep.

Categories: Meditations on work,Melancholy,Nostalgia

Published:
August 5, 2005 – 12:34 am
Author:
By A.

particles passing through a microcosm…that is all we are 0

> Placebo – Without You I’m Nothing
> Fischerspooner – All We Are
> Cardigans – Explode
> Marilyn Manson – In the Shadow of the Valley of Death
> Moby – Sleep Alone

I hung out with my mom almost all day today. We didn’t really have much to talk about, but I took her down to Endert’s Beach and it was a really nice setting to hang out and walk along the beach, talking about the occasional thing that crossed our minds.

Later we went up to Brookings so she could do some karaoke with her old buddies. I was really bored and just stayed in the car and listened to music most of the time. She had fun though, and that’s what mattered. I drove over to Fred Meyer, but I had forgotten my check card at home. I couldn’t help myself but drive by Ripley’s house. I don’t know what I was expecting… perhaps his abusive boyfriend leering out the window with a carving knife… but there was nothing. All the time I was up there I was half waiting for my friends to call me wanting to do something. It’s 1 AM. Nothing.

It’s not like I’m complaining, because I didn’t call anyone… but I just feel like Misty and Selena have cooler people to hang out with than me. And of course I feel like Ben doesn’t really want to hang out with me either. It’s all just me overanalyzing everything, as usual. I want to hang out with Ben, but I can’t really imagine what we would do except for drive around Crescent City aimlessly. I’m not 21 so I can buy alcohol. I just don’t know how to relate to him. I don’t know how to relate to anyone. I’m hopeless. The only thing I can relate to is my voice recognition software and my computer. I can relate to the Internet. I can relate to books. I just feel so hopelessly alone. I feel like in the future I’m going to be the Insipid Coworker of Doom. Everyone’s going to secretly make fun of me behind my back because that’s what they did in grade school.

And now I can’t stop thinking about Ripley, how much I miss him… even though we only hung out for like a week before he dumped me. This is all so puerile. But of course now that he told me of that his boyfriend and him have been getting into physical fights, many times through the day I’m thinking to myself “What if Ripley’s getting the shit beat out of him right now?” A lot of the times I feel like what I really feel for Ripley isn’t so much that I love him, but that everyone in the world has fucked him over. And I want to be the one person that didn’t just use him. But I would be using him. I would keep telling him to go back to school and stuff and trying to make him into a person that he isn’t. But he isn’t happy with that creepazoid that he’s living with so maybe he does want to turn over a new leaf. I don’t know. I guess it’s impossible to go out with someone without changing them. I hate being used but then again I will use people without a second thought. I hate people that try to change you but I try to change everyone I know. Why am I such a hypocrite?

I lent my mom The Haunting of Hill House. I doubt she’ll read it, but it’s the thought that counts. She expressed interest in it over the phone, and I wanted to show that I paid attention. I did nothing today except for hang out with her. At least I made a new playlist on iTunes. It’s pretty cool.

Some Peaches, Meat Beat Manifesto, Human League, Smiths, Jamiroquai. It’s very nice. I’m bored. And anxious. I hate how I just…get so into people I go out with. Even if I only go out with them for a weekend. I suppose I just want to be happy again, and the possibility makes me a bit giddy.

I’m going to take a shower and try to relax.

Categories: Ennui,Melancholy,Nostalgia

Published:
July 31, 2005 – 12:23 am
Author:
By A.