itscold_nosleep

READ THIS CAREFULLY

Tue, 29 Nov 2005 06:03:05 GMT

Please do not read the post below this one. You will be unhappy if you do. Believe me here. I'm unhappy about having written it, and you will be unhappy I wrote it if you read it. Really, skip it. Please.

this is probably really, really creepy, and it ends very suddenly

Tue, 08 Nov 2005 07:38:57 GMT

In the summer of 1978, my parents thought it necessary to have sexual intercourse without birth control. Then, at 1:47 a.m. on February 23, 1979, in Van Nuys, CA, my mother was cut open and I was lifted from her.

The next few years, understandably, are a blur. I remember singing into one of the posts in a corner of my crib, and I remember my first day of school at the age of three, and I know I'd been reading for awhile before that first day of school, and I had a giant tortoise briefly that my parents told me escaped from our well-sealed backyard and ran away, and I got a beagle that would attack my feet and that my mother said would bite off my "tinkle" if I spent time with him without clothes on, and somewhere in there I sat on the sidewalk in front my neighbor and best friend Kevin's house and ate Star Wars cookies. And, while we're talking about Kevin, I remember my first kiss - with one of his twin sisters, named Kristen and Kimberly.

We all went to the same Montessori school, and the kids in our class were aged 2-6. At this school, we would often sit in the main room in a big circle. Also, I would regularly kiss Kristen and Kimberly on the cheek, for no reason other than them being there and female. One day, when I was about five, we were all in the big circle and either Kristen or Kimberly (no one knew who was who) was to my left. I was apparently more daring on this day than usual, so I turned to her and kissed her very solidly on the lips. It was wet and unpleasant and I never did that to either sister again. But that didn't stop me from kissing another of my female classmates in other places.

In between having the alphabet I already knew taught to me and having the hippie teacher with hair down to her feet tell me everyone's the same color (which, by the way, completely freaked me out, because well-intentioned but actually untrue statements don't make sense to little kids), I found myself under one of the tables in the back room with a boy and a girl I don't remember anything at all about. Well, other than the short story that follows. Anyway, we were under a table and no one else was in the room. For reasons I cannot remember, the girl lifted up her skirt and pulled down her underwear. A decision was then made by one of the other two that the boy and I would kiss her in the back and the front.

With the girl's backside to us, the boy leaned down and planted his lips on a cheek. He then lifted his head up, and it was my turn. Nervous and uncomfortable for a long list of reasons, I did what was wanted of me and lowered my head and kissed a cheek. While not the best thing I'd experienced at that point, I was at least not kissing something wet, and it wasn't so bad. With that done, the girl turned herself around and showed us something we knew not much of - a vagina (or "bachina," as I would have pronounced it at the time). I'd heard about these things and knew girls looked very different down there, but seeing it, especially up close, was a little more than I wanted at that moment. But the other boy didn't seem bothered by anything, and so he once again lowered his head and put his lips directly onto this surprising new body part. I was not happy about what I was expected to do after the other boy was done, but I couldn't back out. So, the boy moved himself away from the girl, and I moved in to kiss her crotch. But I couldn't do it. There just was no way I could put my mouth on something I didn't know the function of and that was in the same place as something I had that I used for peeing. That meant I had to fake it, and my best idea was to kiss her a few inches high. And that's what I did, not realizing at the time that she would notice I didn't get the right spot. Things turned out okay, though.

Well, they turned out okay that day, but kissing Kevin's sister on the lips and then the girl-with-no-name-or-face on her backside and vagina (or close enough) did lead me to being afraid of intimate contact with the opposite sex until well into the 90s. Unfortunately, I've also been obsessed with girls as far back as I can remember. I never thought girls were gross, and I always wanted a girlfriend. Sometime shortly after the kissing experiences, I was with my parents and some relatives at a convenience store. I saw some Playboys near the door on the way in, and I flipped one open very quickly when no one was looking. Of course, I didn't know it at the time, but Playboy is mostly articles and advertising, and that's what I saw. But I had to see a naked woman, so I realized I needed to put myself behind everyone as we were leaving so I could flip the magazine open again. Then, we left and I opened the magazine up to a random page once more, and this time I didn't have words staring back at me. No, sir. This time I had a naked woman with average breasts and a large patch of hair between her legs staring back at me, with her possibly sunglasses-covered eyes. It was amazing to my tiny brain, and it gave me something to look forward to - older women.

Soon after my adventure with the Playboy, I started first grade. I was at a new school with new kids, and I made friends quickly. Kids named Steven and Scott and Jonathan were my best friends there, so I spent the most time with them, but I tended to be more comfortable and have more fun playing with girls. It was seen as a little weird at the time, but I liked to play on the swings and in the sandbox with a girl named Natalie and some others I don't remember. My male friends and I liked the same toys and cartoons, but the girls and I just seemed to have more in common emotionally.

In first grade, I sat in the middle of the room and Natalie sat on the last row away from the door. She was a nice girl, and I'd go talk to her if we were allowed to get up and talk to people. Her name made me think of the color brown (I'm not sure why), but she was tall and skinny with short blonde hair, and she looked a bit like a vegetable to me at the time. I know that's a horrible way to describe someone, but it's true and wasn't a bad thing. I liked her, in a six-year-old kind of way.

Something I learned in the bathtub at a very young age was that rubbing the thing I pee out of against the bottom of the tub was a lot of fun. I didn't understand it, but it was great. Then, I learned I could get a similar feeling from a jet in a pool. So, without knowing it, I began masturbating in public. And then yet another option presented itself to me - one of many poles at the center of a climbing structure in the playground at my school.

One day at recess, Natalie and I were playing together, probably on the swings. Toward the end of the free time, I brought Natalie over to the climbing structure to show her the thing I learned. I wrapped myself around one pole and had her wrap herself around another. Then, I asked her to move herself up and down the pole while I did the same thing. She didn't seem to get much out of it, but it was still nice to show her the thing I learned.

blood and caring

Tue, 18 Oct 2005 06:49:30 GMT

I woke up today after a bad night of sleep. I got in the shower and pretty quickly started blowing blood out of my nose. Can't say why, but it seemed bad. Bloody snot, it was, and not just blood on its own. I'm realizing more and more that my job is making it hard to care about things, which isn't as sad as it sounds because - as I said - I don't care much. The fix, I imagine, is in some way similar to forcing yourself awake. How is it done? I don't know. How do I care again, when I don't care enough to care about it? I care enough to think about it, apparently, but all I can actually bring myself to do is be lazy and I'm surprisingly fine with that. I should be seeing Turbonegro tomorrow at the Fillmore. Dakin will be there. It'll be good, I hope.

no more band

Fri, 07 Oct 2005 05:04:18 GMT

I quit my band a couple days ago, through email. Well, officially it's a break because of my job requiring me to work too much. I got a response from Hugh that said only "ok." From Dakin, it was a question asking if that meant there was no practice this sunday. Maybe they don't really mind that we're suddenly taking a long break. Maybe they do. I can't say. I've been out of my mind lately, and it's a huge relief to not have to worry about this band for awhile. It really is. There were some things that were still good, but it had become extremely frustrating in some big ways and so it's good to take a break. It's strange to do, though. I now don't have any friends I hang out with. Well, maybe I do. I don't know how this will work out. For months, Dakin and Hugh were the only people I saw outside of work. There isn't much email between us, either, and so the people I communicate with most are Anie and Kat, and the three of us live in three different states. It's very possible I'm on my way to being... I'm not sure what. Maybe the crazy guy arguing with himself on the street that my first head doctor told me I'd be in the future if I didn't agree to medication. That doesn't sound so bad. I don't have any reason to argue with myself. I'm my own best friend. But yeah, crazy times ahead. I wish I weren't so crazy.

I need to live in a cave

Sat, 01 Oct 2005 06:46:42 GMT

Today was my ninth straight day of work. Three or four days there is rough. My back hurt from day one, and on day eight I somehow managed to hurt my right ankle pretty badly. It still hurts like hell. I hurt it when pushing some heavy boxes up a ramp, but I don't know how. It hurts to walk and more to drive. Tomorrow is my day off, which I thought would be relaxing. Turns out I'm working the following six days, so I've got to do my laundry and other things tomorrow if I don't want to have to go to work naked starting mid-week. Starting yesterday, I've been pretty unfriendly. I've been amazed the last few months by how pleasant I've been towards customers and my co-workers. That's not the version of me the Wherehouse was getting after awhile, so it's been interesting. But I've become very surly, and I was kicking things again at work. I punched a box, too, and knocked a lot of things over. I need to find a new job, but I'm so busy/depressed that I can't function. Stupid me. I complained to my mother about work, and she said that that's everyone's experience and that it never gets easier. Fucking great. Is that supposed to make me feel better? She's known me for 26 years and hasn't figured out yet that comparing me to others doesn't make me feel better? But why do people continue then? If I'm working six long days a week, with one day off to take care of dumb shit, what's the point? I work to live, and not the other way around, and not just to stay alive but to actually do something with my life. I sometimes wish my childhood were more difficult, or that I at least wanted more than I had. I like who I am, but it's very hard for me to do things that most people don't even think about, and that's a very sad situation. I'm still not able to think more than a couple weeks into the future. I want to quit my band. I can hardly stand to be around people, and Hugh has become surprisingly offensive. He seems to know this, but he won't change. I should go to bed. The moron in the next room won't shut the fuck up. It's almost midnight and he won't shut the fuck up, and neither will his girlfriend. Making things even worse is that he sounds a lot like Keanu Reeves, if Keanu Reeves were very loud and slammed doors a lot.

this week

Fri, 26 Aug 2005 01:12:11 GMT

Very bad week. On Monday morning, shortly before leaving for work, I was in the bathroom and found a coin in my pocket. I looked at it and looked at the toilet, and I decided to use the toilet to make a wish. I wished for a pleasant or at least okay week. Work started at 10am, and sometime after I got there I was told to check the schedule, because I had to go to Daly City the next day instead of my regular store. This wasn't the same 10-6:30 shift, either. It was 7-3:30, which, obviously, was three hours earlier, and everyone who knows me knows I don't do three hours earlier. Then I had to add another hour to that, because getting to the Daly City store takes almost an hour longer. It costs five dollars round-trip, too, instead of being free or close to it. And I was in Daly City to unload a fucking huge truck for four hours. I'm big but I'm weak. "You are like girl," one of my co-workers told me a few weeks ago. Now it's Thursday and I'm still all kinds of sore. Yesterday, on my way out the door to go to work, the lady in charge of where I live stopped me in the hall. She told me that a building inspector is coming over on Friday to look at stuff and that - and I don't understand this at all - we're not allowed to have locks on our doors. So, Friday at around noon will be when people show up before the inspection to remove everyone's locks so things will be okay. I hate having people in my room - it's probably one of the top five things that bother me. People in my private space is very troubling to me, and that was to be my day off at home. But no more. Anyway, I got to work yesterday and was told I was going to Daly City again, on Friday (remember, day off), at 7am to unload another fucking enormous truck for several hours. That means Friday no longer is a day off; I can't go home after work because of the shit going on here; and I'm going to be tired, sore, and angry all day. And I have to go bed around 7 tonight because I have a ridiculous amount of trouble getting to sleep and also waking up. Today was a day off, but I couldn't do much with it since I have to go to bed so early. Also, yesterday, the regular delivery at work came in a truck with a broken lift thing at the back, so the boxes were taken off one at a time. I'm even more sore than I should be. After being told yesterday that I had to go back to Daly City on Friday, I became so angry that I started shaking and thought I was going to vomit. I eventually went in the back and punched a few boxes and sat down with my head in my hands, crying without tears. People asked what was wrong and I said I was sick, which wasn't a lie. They said I should go home, but I said I'd be okay. I wish the people in charge at this place weren't so irresponsible and disrespectful with their employees. Am I the only person whose time is important to them? Am I the only person with a life? What the fuck is this? They don't take no for an answer. One of my co-workers had had two family members crushed by a truck recently. One person died immediately and the other was alive for a couple days, with a split-open head and other unfortunate holes in the body. Then he died. My co-worker was upset, as you'd expect, and the owner gave her shit about needing a couple days off to be unhappy and go to a funeral. He's mostly just a blank, sort of unfriendly person, but he's got some real bright shining moments of astonishing cruelty and stupidity. He's been nicer lately, though. I want to die.

thoughts for the day

Sun, 14 Aug 2005 05:43:29 GMT

I have not been writing anything at all lately, and I don't know why. I'm only writing now because I've made myself and I hope it doesn't turn into something that upsets me. This is the third of four days off for me. Day one was laundry, followed by intense frustration. I walked miles and miles that day and ate a lot, which resulted in me losing weight. On my walk, I saw buffalo. Or bison? Both? I saw baby ducks, too. For some reason, this past week has been all about change here at the house. It was decided (by the person in charge here) that the bathrooms and the bedroom next to mine needed to be painted. This meant a lot of noise and stink and loud Chinese and being unable to use the restroom. I kept coming home and leaving, because they weren't done yet. Things were finally all over around eight, and then I got a shower and sat down in front of the computer. The next day, I woke up around eleven and then sat around all day thinking and watching movies (Zoolander, Dodgeball, Coffee And Cigarettes). Zoolander was funny this time, though last time was with a girl I didn't get along with and so maybe nothing could be good that night. Dodgeball wasn't very funny. Coffee And Cigarettes was okay at times, but mostly I was frustrated because I was finally watching this movie and this moron down the hall decided it was necessary to put up artwork for awhile outside my room. So, lots of hammering and then, later, lots of horrible art for me to look at on the way to the bathroom. It makes me uncomfortable and sad now to leave my room, and I feel a bit suffocated by the huge amount of shit cluttering the walls. He completely rearranged the front room, too, so that's no good. I don't know why he did this. Also, he put a gross, dirty rug in the bathroom, saying it was nice (I overheard this). I went in the bathroom and didn't even want to put my feet on it (I was wearing flip-flops, too), so I folded it up and put it in a corner. It was later unrolled, so I again folded it up. Today, I heard the guy talking to his whiny and mean-spirited fuck of a girlfriend, and he said someone keeps rolling up his rug and that he'd break the person's arms if they did it again. I actually thought he was okay until he said that. Well, okay in the way that he's not actually a bad person but still bothers me because he's such a dumb fucking Hollywood frat-boy stereotype. But maybe he is a bad person. I don't know. Then I watched Freaks and five episodes of Seinfeld. I'm missing a birthday gathering for a friend because I didn't want to go out two days in a row, because I know I'd completely waste the time that came before the plans and I'd rather waste only one day. I'm not saying I did anything exciting or terribly important today, but I did need this in my own special way. Tomorrow is band practice, which I tried to reschedule for today so I could go to the birthday thing, but Dakin and Hugh couldn't do it. I might be the only person who works this way. Who knows? I hope practice goes well tomorrow. Then I work Monday. I can't tell if the owner hates me or not. He seems to at times, but then other times are okay. He doesn't say much to me that's unpleasant, but I hear from other people that he does when I'm not around. And that's just great. It seems like the manager at another store is a complete fucking loser piece of shit, though, so maybe I'm doing okay. I need to find a new job soon, but I'm too tired and depressed to do anything about it. Well, there's also the fact that a new job needs to be obviously better than the current job. It can't just be something else. I'm not going to work at Walgreens just because it's not where I am now. That very well could be worse or just as bad, and added to that is being the new guy again. It would have to pay better or be a company that I actually am interested in, like something music- or movie-related. I want to work at Amoeba, but you need to know someone to work there. Towels and sheets are boring. I've actually cried at work. On some days, it's taken a startling amount of pressure from myself to not cut myself with a box-cutter (so far, all my cuts have been accidents there). I think complaining right now is a good thing. I haven't complained in awhile about anything. I've been too scared to say anything at all negative, because a good friend of mine had a bad reaction to it. I started to think she hadn't been paying attention to me in the time we've known each other, and maybe I'm right. I don't know. She's a lovely girl, but I think she's very confused about some very important parts of my brain. But eh. She told me she isn't going to talk to me for a couple months (after barely talking to me for the last six months), so it doesn't matter for now. She's out of my life, and maybe she'll be back in it later and we'll be better off. I'll know later. Maybe I'll find out one day why she decided suddenly to avoid me and not really give an explanation. Maybe? Maybe not. I wish I suddenly had a lot of money, but not because something bad happened. I could win the lottery and then buy a house and never leave it. That would be nice. I could quit my job and buy a computer and a house and that's what I'd need. I'd live in the mountains in Colorado and have wiener dogs and guinea pigs and ducks and it would be great. It would be really great, and I'd never have to talk to anyone. I'd only talk to people if I wanted to. I don't know what I was made to do, but it certainly wasn't living a normal life. I'm so constantly disappointed by people, so sad about what they do to themselves and others, and I can't be part of it. I think sometimes that my standards for everything are just too high, but I obviously didn't plan this out. Alcohol and drugs lower standards and make the intolerable tolerable, and I can't do that. Maybe I'd be better off if I didn't think so goddamn well of myself. I should stop writing before I say any more.

AB - SPRING 1999

Tue, 05 Jul 2005 02:12:44 GMT

In late January, Natalie and I went back to San Francisco for the Spring semester. We'd spent the previous five weeks in Los Angeles, in our parents' homes. On January 28, Natalie bought and wrote in a card for her friend Anie's birthday. I did not know Anie very well but had spoken to her a few times, and I knew her well enough to know how to spell her name. Natalie, however, thought Anie's name was "Annie." I pointed this out, and Natalie stuffed the first card under a couch cushion in a common area of the dorms and then acquired a new card. Things worked out fine.

In mid-February, my parents came up for a visit. It was for my February 23rd birthday, but they were going to be somewhere in Asia then and had to visit before their month-long trip. I believe the three of us and Natalie ate and saw a movie. They told us we were all going to a Jay Leno stand-up show over Spring Break.

Then Valentines Day happened. I'd bought a card and stuffed animal for Natalie. Early in the day, I went to her room with the card and gift. She wasn't there, and her roommate told me she was in the shower. I left the things and went back to my room, and I'd asked the roommate to tell Natalie to come to my room when she was ready. We had planned to go to Olive Garden, and I'd planned to finally agree to have sex with her after six months of saying I would not. Natalie came to my room with a large, heart-shaped cookie that had something pleasant written on it. She also came expecting me to have more purchased items to give her. I didn't, so she yelled at me and insulted me for several hours. Late in the yelling session, she excused her behavior by saying it's her dad's fault. There ended up being no sex, and I wished she hadn't started seeing a therapist or that she at least understood better the things the therapist said to her. Then David ate most of my heart-shaped cookie when I wasn't around.

On my birthday, Natalie gave me a 'Reservoir Dogs' DVD to use with the DVD player that came with the new computer from my parents. She was also nice to me on this day. Four days later, she was still fairly nice to me. I'd gone out during the day with David and Glenn and Hugh, to Haight. We walked a lot and bought things. When we got back to campus, Natalie came to my room and ended our relationship. She talked and cried for hours, and she wasn't mean to me. I had been mostly done with her for awhile, though, and wished she would leave. She did finally leave, and then David and Anie and I went out. In the previous month, I'd talked to Anie quite a bit and we had become friends. On this night, we went behind one of the school buildings and found old computer parts that had been thrown out. We took some keyboards up to a higher part of the building and dropped them off, over an open concrete area. They would hit the ground and keys would go in various directions and other parts would go with them. It was fun, destroying things, and it was the best I'd felt in a long time.

A couple weeks later, Natalie and I - along with a lot of other people - went to see Marilyn Manson and Hole at the Cow Palace. We'd bought our tickets before breaking up, and we were getting along okay. We saw Anie and some other people we knew there, and they disappeared quickly once the show started. I hadn't been to a show this big before, and there weren't seats on the floor. When Hole started playing, the crowd started moving, and I was scared. Hole's set ended and the crowd calmed down. People were calmer for Manson and I wasn't scared. It was my first Manson show and I was excited. During Manson's set, Natalie and I started making out and I removed her breasts from her shirt and felt her up for a bit. After the show, we and the people we were with went back to the dorms and ordered a pizza. I was in a good mood, and I heard later from Natalie that the others were surprised by it.

Perhaps ten days before Spring Break, I began taking a new antidepressant called Effexor. I was not fond of antidepressants, and I was unhappy to be taking something that sounded like it would be a hotel in Vegas. I took one day of pills and felt a little sick. Over the next few days, I became more and more sick and decided to stop taking them. Four or five days after starting the pills, I was so sick I couldn't stand up for more than a minute or two and I'd lost my voice. I spent most of the next week in bed, because I couldn't do anything else. I rarely ate or used the restroom, because it was easier to not do those things than it was to stand up or walk, and I couldn't see a doctor because I wasn't able to be on my feet long enough to get there.

A day or two before Spring Break, I finally made it to a doctor and he gave me some pills to help me with my flight home. Then I spent my last day before my trip walking around campus trying to get things done. I didn't accomplish anything and was dizzy the whole time. The next day, Natalie and I met up to get a shuttle to the airport. Since she'd been at school with me, we'd been flying to and from Los Angeles together, and this trip and had been planned for months. It was a little awkward and I felt very weak. After a complicated and frustrating situation with the shuttle, we got to the airport. Either there or on the plane, Natalie told me she'd been seeing a guy we know named Jeremy. Before we broke up, she'd been telling me I should be more like Jeremy, because he's confident and interesting. She told me she hoped I wasn't upset. I wasn't, but it was strange to think she was with someone else.

I spent Spring Break being a bit lonely and depressed. I did not - and do not - like being in Los Angeles, and I was thinking about Natalie for some of my time there, and I had to have excuses and explanations because she wasn't coming with us to see Jay Leno, and this was all a surprise to my parents because they'd been in Asia and we'd had no contact. It was my first time there in more than two years that I wasn't with her, and, while I didn't want to be with her anymore, it was a little sad to think I couldn't be with her. Or that's what I thought at the time. I learned rather quickly, after returning to San Francisco, that she either had some sort of agreement with Jeremy or that she didn't care about him. On one night, she called me up and told me to come over to her room. I said bye to David and Anie - who was in my/David's room almost every night at this point - and went to Natalie's room. We then went down to the lobby and asked for the kitchen key. In the kitchen, we made out and she took her shirt off. She asked if she could give me a blowjob and I said she couldn't. I wondered at the time if any part of Jeremy (and which part or parts) had been in her mouth that day, and I decided I should stop thinking about it and that it didn't matter.

Sometime in late April, I went to a class Natalie and I had together and she was already there. She kissed me when I sat down, and I didn't know at the time that that would be the last time I'd kiss her. Two days later, Anie and I had plans to buy Gwar tickets and then go to the Mission to buy clothes for the show. We had decided to try and look like white trash. A few days before this, David had told me he was interested in Anie. Within a day or two of him telling me this, he spent a night in Anie's room. I had become very fond of Anie, too, and this upset me. Glenn had had some sort of brief something with her the previous semester, and so I'd decided that I would keep my thoughts to myself. I wasn't sure what David had in mind, but he of course is more appealing and I didn't like having competition in an event that I wasn't even trying to be part of. I spent this night in front of my computer, listening to Eddie Vedder sing 'Throw Your Arms Around Me' on repeat. I was not doing well. I wrote Anie an email about how badly I was feeling and did not say anything very interesting.

The next day, Anie came to my room and we sat on my bed. Being a nice person, she attempted to comfort me and, as the song from the night before asked of her, she had her arms around me. It was just friendly and it did make me feel better, but then David came in and seemed to have been upset by this. The day before Anie and I were to go out for the day, David asked if he could come along. I wanted to spend a day alone with her, but David was my best friend and roommate and I couldn't say no. But when Anie and I were ready to leave and David was still asleep, he was left behind.

Anie and I first went to the mall next to the campus and bought our Gwar tickets at Tower. Then, we went to the Mission and bought flannels and metal t-shirts at a place that sells clothes by the pound. That was what we'd planned to do and we'd done it, so we headed back to campus. When we got off the train, we were standing in front of the school and decided we didn't want to go back yet. We got on another train and went to the Castro. There, we went to music stores and then to an Italian restaurant. In the restaurant, we ordered a sausage pizza, because Anie wanted to say "twelve-inch sausage." We sat on the same side of the table, which may have been all my fault because I was sitting on the outside. But I was feeling very well, which was unusual but always welcome.

After eating, we stayed sitting for a bit and I ended up resting my head on her. Before we left, I used the restroom. It was my first time using a public restroom in what may have been years, but I was feeling well enough on this day to get past my OCD and urinate in a public place. We then left the restaurant and walked around the Castro. It was a short and mostly quiet walk, and we were holding hands by the end of it. The walk ended in front of the train station at Castro and Market. We stood there, quietly, arms around each other. A few minutes into this, she looked at me with sad eyes and said she wanted to kiss me. She then put her face in my chest, and I asked her to say that again. She looked at me but wouldn't say it, and then we kissed. After awhile, we stopped and she told me I was the only guy she's kissed that she liked and trusted. We went back to school after this, and we stopped holding hands when we got near the dorms. We lived on the same floor, and we stood just out of view of our rooms for a few minutes before going to bed. I asked her if she could not mention this to anyone before talking to me the next day, and she started crying. I told her nothing was wrong but that I needed to talk to her before she talked to anyone else, which meant I needed her to know David was fond of her before she said anything to him.

The next day, Anie came to my room when David was out. We were friendly for a few minutes and then she had me tell her what I said I'd tell her. I said I didn't want to hurt Glenn and that David liked her. She was concerned mostly about David, since things between her and Glenn were uncomfortable at best. She said she liked David but "not in that way." There was no decision made as to what to say to David, and we ended up laying together on my bed. I (maybe we) ended up sort of falling asleep, and that's when David came in. Anie sat up perhaps more quickly than she'd ever sat up before. Natalie came in a little bit later, as well. It was not at all comfortable for me, and I imagine it was also weird for Anie.

The third day was when things began to go badly. I met Anie in the dining hall and we ate. We then went back to her room and she told me that this wasn't going to work. She said we were good friends and that she was attracted to me, but that that wasn't enough. Of course, I started crying. It was a big mess, and I ended up saying something about wanting to be happy. Anie said she hadn't mentioned anything about me not being happy, and so she kissed me. For the first time in a year and a half or so, I was very interested in being with a girl, and I even said "what the fuck?" when I tried to put my hand under her shirt and found she was wearing a slip. I don't think she heard me, though.

The fourth day was like the third day, but it didn't have the pleasant ending. So, things between Anie and I were officially over. Things were weird for a few days, but they were okay. Somewhere in there, I started writing something about those few days, but then I heard Anie and David talking in the hall and was too upset to finish it. About a week after things started between Anie and I, she and David went to someone else's room and drank a lot. David was not a drinker at this point, but he thought it was starting to sound like a good idea. After drinking, they went out for the night and things began between them. A day or two later, David and Glenn and I were in my room and we all knew what was going on. One of us (not me) decided it was a good idea for us all to be very clear about what happened between us and Anie, so we would know exactly how upset to be. It was not the best conversation I've had.

Around this time, I was eating alone in the dining hall and Natalie came in and sat with me. She saw that I wasn't feeling well and asked what was wrong. I didn't want to talk about it, especially with her, but she eventually got it out of me. When Anie and I were first becoming friends, Natalie made sure to tell me that Anie didn't like me at all and just talked to me because she wanted to talk to my friends. On this day, Natalie became very angry, about me being with someone else - even though she'd been with Jeremy for a few months - and about her friend being with me. On this day and some other days, she screamed at me about being a bad person for involving myself with someone who had an even shorter involvement with a friend of mine, and she screamed about Anie being a whore and a bad person, and she did this in front of a lot of people. Again, not the best conversations I've had.

For the last month of the semester, David and Anie mostly avoided me and I was very depressed. I was unhappy about what had happened between Anie and I, and about what was happening between her and David, and then also about that all meaning my two closest friends were barely talking to me anymore. I felt very alone, and it was painful to see David's bed empty almost every night.

Shortly before the semester ended, I was lying in bed one night and was close to being asleep. Just before I was fully asleep, an unfamiliar wave of feeling passed through my body and I was woken up. I felt good, and the unfamiliar feeling made itself known as either Confucius or a different but similar Asian man. For a few days after, when I'd feel bad, I was able to call on this new friend to visit and make me feel better. I would feel the wave of calm happiness rush through my body and all would be well.

For the last night of the semester, I didn't go to sleep and instead packed my things. That next morning, I was in the hall and ran into Anie. We were both up because she and I had finals, and she gave me a hug when she saw me. Later, my parents came and we put my things into their car. David expected to be living on the streets of San Francisco that summer, because he didn't want to go back to Sacramento, so I gave him my pillow. He gave me a Beatles t-shirt that was too big for him. We said bye and then my parents and I got in the car and headed back to Los Angeles.

two assignments from a human sexuality class

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 04:50:21 GMT

Psychology 450
Variations In Human Sexuality
October 18, 1999

Section A – The Situation

On February 27, 1999, my girlfriend of two years, Lydia, decided to end our relationship. She had grown tired of me those last few months. During my first year of college, I had sort of fallen apart as a human being and then spent a lot of the following summer going to different doctors and taking various medications. It was explained to her and myself that my depression and obsessive-compulsive problems, along with the medication, would all but destroy any desire I had for sex. This was all right by me, but it upset Lydia quite a bit.

Lydia was an extremely sexual person, and the fact that she had finally graduated from high school and moved to San Francisco to go to school and be with me made it all so much harder for her to deal with. As if this weren’t bad enough, my obsessive-compulsive problems were getting to be too much for her to handle. I wouldn’t allow her to touch some of my belongings, or sit on my bed a certain way, or even make physical contact with me.

After about six months of her putting up with this nonsense, I guess Lydia figured it was time to put an end to it all. We still got along fairly well, and still do, but I wasn’t particularly sad to see the end of that relationship. We had both hurt each other in a number of ways, and it was best to finish things off before they became even more unbearable.

Section B – How The Situation Fucked Us

Lydia and I met on the internet in February of 1997. A week later, on Valentine’s Day, we met in person for the first time. We spent a few hours together that night, just talking and getting to know each other. We got along very well and agreed to meet two days later for a second date. On that date, we went to a movie and ended with a kiss. Our first few months together were spent mostly in my car, in nice secluded areas. We were very horny and couldn’t get enough of each other.

Let’s now jump to August of 1997. We were seven months into the relationship and we hadn’t engaged in any sexual intercourse yet, but things were still very good and we were very happy. But now I was off to San Francisco State to start my first year of college. I was dealing with it fairly well, but Lydia was extremely upset about me leaving Los Angeles. We had decided, though, that we were too good for each other to just give up on everything and break up, and that she would join me in San Francisco the following year. It all seemed like a good idea; we just had to deal with the situation and manage to get through two semesters of loneliness and frustration.

The first semester came and went and nothing too interesting occurred. We both just sort of went to school during the day and talked to each other on the phone or internet at night. We fought a lot, but that was because she had a few issues she needed to sort out. She had a very loud family that liked to argue, and she brought this with her into our relationship. And she also decided that being a bitch and getting extreme emotions out of me was better than nothing.

In January of 1998, my winter break ended and I was back in San Francisco. I had spent the previous month in Los Angeles, most of the time with Lydia. We had our bad moments in that month, but it was mostly good. But I had to return to school, so we were forced to part once again. I started out the semester very unhappy because I had just been home, where I didn’t have anything to worry about, and was able to see my girlfriend a few times a week. At first, I was just a little depressed, but then, as the semester wore on, I began to not be able to go to class or eat or leave my room at all for almost any reason. As bad an idea as it probably sounds, Lydia decided she would visit me and we would lose our virginity to each other. This made me a little happier for a day or two, but then I was back to being my old miserable self. I still regularly stayed up for a day and a half, and in that time I might not have eaten or even gone to the bathroom. I wanted to die every day and tried to think of quick and easy ways to accomplish it. I became very terrified of the outside world and wanted nothing more than to be alone. I was afraid to touch most anything other than my computer and CD player. I hardly went to the bathroom because I knew that that trip would require a lot of washing to be completed.

After spending a couple miserable months in my dorm room, and keeping all this trouble to myself, I decided to look up depression and obsessive-compulsive disorders on the internet. I found self-tests and various bits of information about these problems, and these led me to believe that I was a truly fucked-up person and needed to tell my parents and Lydia about my torturous semester. Needless to say, I failed all my classes, but my parents were okay with it. They just wanted me to be better. They called around and found a psychologist, Dr. Peterson, who lived/worked nearby and sent me off to her once a week for the summer. At first, I liked having a doctor to talk to about my problems, but I slowly began to realize that she didn’t know any more than I did. She also gave me horrible projects to do so that I would “feel better about myself,” but they would just leave me feeling awful.

At some point in the summer, Dr. Peterson referred me to a psychiatrist, Dr. Goldstein, in order for me to be prescribed medication. I was given Paxil. Immediately after picking up my first bottle of the pills, my mother and I went out to lunch. She took them out to give me my first dose and began reading the warnings; one of them mentioned sexual dysfunction. This made her laugh, but I sat there silent. Sometime after that, my doctors told me that depression, especially along with Paxil, could very well remove all of my sexual desires, which would lead to endless frustration in Lydia.

Lydia and I continued to have sex every once in awhile throughout that summer, but I grew increasingly disinterested in it. I did it mostly for her, and I think she began to sense that. I told her it was because of the Los Angeles heat, which I believe it was a bit, but I also just began to lose interest in sex and/or her. She thought that once we got up to San Francisco for school that everything would be fixed and we’d be fucking non-stop. When this dream did not become reality, Lydia became very upset and depressed and occasionally suicidal. She would literally beg me to have sex with her or even allow her to give me a blowjob, but I refused. I had absolutely no interest in any of these activities, and her bringing it up all the time made me want to die.

This horrible frustration and fighting went on for several months. We both started to get tired of each other, and even had feelings for other people, but we stayed together for the occasional pleasant moment. These pleasant moments, however, were so far apart that the relationship needed to come to an end. And on February 27, 1999, it did. I had gone out to Haight with my friends that day, and when I returned she came over to my room, started crying, and broke up with me. She continued to cry for what seemed like hours, and I just wanted her to leave. She eventually did, and I then went out with a couple of my friends for the night. We didn’t do a whole lot when we were out, but I felt very good. I felt like I was free for the first time in awhile, and this made me happy. I felt like I could do whatever I wanted, and it was wonderful knowing that I would not have to listen to her begging me for sex ever again.

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

Psychology 450
Variations In Human Sexuality
November 15, 1999

Let The Honesty Fly

The situation with my ex-girlfriend, Lydia, in which I had severe mental problems and she wanted nothing more than to have sex with me all the time was quite a difficult thing to deal with. It took a lot out of both of us, and it made us both very miserable people to be around. She just wanted to be wild and crazy and drink and smoke and do drugs, and I just wanted to sit around and talk to my friends and be calm. We had grown apart over the years and became completely incompatible.

At the time all of this was going on, we really just argued about what was on the surface, what was obvious. I was bothered greatly by the fact that all Lydia wanted was a life full of partying and sex. All I wanted was a nice, calm, happy life that included an enjoyable relationship with someone I liked to spend time with. We would argue mostly about her wanting the sex I wasn’t giving her. Looking back on it, though, that’s not what it was about. We were both done with the relationship. She had her ideas for how she wanted to live and I had mine. We had both also become quite fond of other people and wanted to live out those feelings.

What we could have done differently to make things better than they were seems fairly obvious now. We should have been more honest with each other and, even more important, with ourselves. Lydia admits now to not even having been in love with me at the end, but she stuck with me through all the crap just because she was afraid to be alone. Something inside her told her that, no matter what, she needed me in order to be a whole person and that she could never find anyone else. That inner voice should have been ignored. Why did I not end the relationship? I’m really not sure. In a strange way, I think I was just terrified of hurting her feelings and making things even worse for the both of us. After two years together, we were just sticking around because it was convenient; all we really needed was a place to go once things between us were over. She found what she needed in a sort of cartoon version of me named Jerry. I then found what I needed in a person who was really nothing like Lydia. I’m not quite sure what that says about our feelings towards each other. I guess she just needed a livelier version of me, while I needed someone completely unlike her. We should have just been more honest in everything and ended our suffering a bit closer to when it began.

Throughout this semester, I’ve learned a handful of things about my myself. Lydia always begged me to have sex with her, and not a day went by that she didn’t ask me at least a few times for a fuck. I’m not sure how most people are when it comes to this sort of thing, since I tend to keep to myself a lot and not talk to people too much, but being harassed on a daily basis about something will make me hate that thing no matter what it happens to be. She made me hate the idea of sex and not sex itself. I never had anything against the act, but I began to associate it with her constant complaining and pleading. I’ve also decided that I’m more of a “love” person than a “sex” person. That seems to be more commonly thought of as a female quality, so what does that say about me? I’m not quite sure. All I know is that I wouldn’t really consider myself a typical guy. Spending a lot of time by myself and completely avoiding any human contact seems to have skewed my views of things just a tad.

Being in this class this semester has made me see things just a bit differently. I can converse with the sex-obsessed with more understanding, and I can see Lydia’s side of our break-up a little more clearly. I can see more why she would be so upset by me denying her what she so badly wanted. But at the same time, I can see more why I reacted the way I did to the whole situation and I don’t feel too terrible about it. Things haven’t been drastically changed in my mind, but they’ve changed. My belief is that more change will come when there is more distance between me and that relationship.

Jim, The Occasionally Happy Man

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 04:34:15 GMT

1/4/00, 2:22 a.m.
in my apartment
winter break, alone at the moment

Jim, The Occasionally Happy Man

There once was a man, Jim, who wanted only to love and be loved. He went for most of his life without seeing either part of that. One day, however, he saw both parts. He went on to see them for a little while. Both parts then died. They were then revived. Then they died again. Then one more, perhaps final, time they again showed their faces. They pranced and sang and shook hands with the sunlight, and all was well. Jim began to see things he'd never seen and feel things he'd never felt; mental disturbances were a thing of the past. The bench was finally his friend. He would soon find himself waking up in tears, but from happiness. No more would happy dreams haunt him and make him want to die. They would be the truth and all things wonderful would be his. Jim would no longer have any reason to be unhappy or complain or worry. His life was perfect and his world complete. Then, of course, the happiness tore out his heart and threw it on the ground and smashed it to pieces and set it on fire. The end.

an amazing poem

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 04:32:18 GMT

February 27, 2003, in Sheila's bedroom, at a quarter to 8 at night

oh, hot dog
nifty hot dog
why are you so brown?
hello, hot dog
blessed hot dog
you help me to not frown

when things are going wrong
when things are going right
when I am alone
in my bed at night
when I am in school
when I am in my house
I am thinking of you, hot dog
and how you may contain mouse

you are you so fine, my lovely hot dog
oh, you know it's true
your blindingly shiny beefy body
helps me to not be blue

THE END

another media assignment

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 04:28:42 GMT

This one's still a faked assignment, but I put it together with a couple friends (who would probably recognize what they said if they read this now). This was spring '99. I'm fairly certain one of my friends made me add the "creepy faggot" bit. Now experience:

Mass media interview with Danny Enai, a little creepy faggot.

What television shows do you watch regularly, and why?
I watch “The Young Ones” because they’re so cool. I would watch “Laverne And Shirley” because my mom and my sister watch it all the time, because they’re super lame. And “Taxi,” for the same reason, except for the “super lame” because I don’t think “Taxi’s” too bad. And “Just Shoot Me,” because I have a crush on David Spade. “Frasier,” because my mother watches that and it’s amusing. Let’s see, what else do I watch? I like “3rd Rock From The Sun,” because it’s about aliens. When I was a little kid, I always wanted to watch “Cheers.” The opening music always meant bedtime. It seemed like the promised land, everything I could never have. I like “The Simpsons,” too. Everyone likes that.

What radio stations do you listen to, and why?
I don’t really listen to the radio. My alarm’s on a station. I think it’s oldies. It’s on a “doo-doo-wah” station. I like 104.9, but I can only get it in the truck. We don’t get it in Monterey. In the bathroom, I’m forced to listen to the rap music. It is very loud.

What magazines and newspapers do you read, and why?
I get pictures out of magazines whenever I can. I read horoscopes, Rob Brezny’s Real Astrology. He’s in free weekly things. He’s super cool. I read the New York Times. They have it downstairs. It’s a big newspaper. There’s a lot of writing. There’s a lot to read. Hello, Mr. Stinky!

Do you ever listen to CDs, tapes, or records?
Hell yeah! All three. And how! I love my CDs so much. I just got a really early, lame David Bowie record with The Laughing Gnome, and a picture of him wearing one of my favorite shirts he has. It’s a sparkly black mesh shirt from the early 70s.

Do you ever make use of the internet?
Yeah. I have email, and I look things up when I want to know. And… when do I use the internet? I used to really hate it when it first came out. I found it really boring and depressing, but now I’ve learned that it can be useful. I like email, because you don’t actually have to talk to the person. I can go to CDNOW and hear clips of things.

Do you go to the movies a lot?
No, not often. Maybe, like, once every couple months or less. When’s the last time I went to the movies? I remember being there. I went with my friends. It was in Monterey. I went to “The Matrix.” My friend, Annie Wilson, loves Keanu Reeves. I was holding her hand during it and she would squeeze it when she got excited.

Do you rent movies a lot?
I rent movies whenever. I don’t know if I rent them a lot. I don’t rent them here. There’s a lot of movies I want to see that I haven’t seen. I own some movies… “Sid And Nancy.” I love the movies I own. They’re very nice. I own movies with Malcolm McDowell. I have “The Wall,” which I thought I lost once and I almost had a fit because I was very attached to it. I have “Sid And Nancy,” which used to be my favorite movie, and “The Crying Game.”

What do you do to get news?
Wait for someone to tell me about it.

What do you think of advertisements?
They’re commonly extremely annoying. Every now and again, they’ve got a neat picture in them. Some make me want to buy stuff and some make me swear I’ll never go near that product because the commercials bug the hell out of me.

How do you deal with others while consuming your mass media?
My mother and sister and I laugh and talk about what’s happening on the screen. We always laugh and talk. We’re a bunch of giggling buffoons, really. If I’m around people I don’t know too well, I try and make sure my reaction is appropriate for the crowd. When listening to music… well, I listen to different music at different volumes around different people, because sometimes I get scared because maybe this music will bother people or make me look horrible. Sometimes I listen for the hidden messages. If you listen closely enough, you can tell that they are watching you and maybe, sometimes, want you to do things for them. But only the people who listen closely enough get to hear them. Unfortunately, I look like Donovan. I hate going to the movies with my friends sometimes, because if I haven’t seen them in awhile I want to talk to them but I can’t. It sucks.

What do you get from your mass media consumption?
Amusement, ideas, and commonality. You don’t feel like you’re so alone. You can make jokes with people you’ve never met before. You can have instant connections with people just because you’ve seen the same television programs. It’s really something. Especially if they’re obscure. And I think about it a lot, all the celebrities I obsess over and collect pictures of.

Depressing Fucking Story

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 04:20:29 GMT

May 16, 1999
5:41 a.m.
Mary Ward Hall, room 312

Jon was hard at work on his Neil Diamond website late one Saturday night when, of all things, there was a knock at the door. He looked through the peephole, fully expecting this to be a joke of some sort, and saw no one. He opened the door anyway. On the other side, he found a girl, Anita, whom he often stared at during the Statistics class they had together. At first, Jon was very pleased to see a girl he had liked for awhile standing outside of his door, but then he realized that she had not known who lived there when she knocked. She was hysterical and screaming and explained to him that her and her boyfriend had just been in a terrible accident and that this was the first house she saw when looking for help. She had been smacked in the head pretty hard and was bleeding, and she passed out after she told her story. Jon took her and laid her on his bed and then went out looking for the car.

After about an hour of walking, Jon found a car wrapped around a tree. He went closer, looked inside, and found a young man at the wheel who was unconscious and seemed to have been vomiting blood for quite some time. He checked the man’s pulse and discovered he was dead. Realizing there was nothing he could do there to make the situation any better, Jon ran back home to check on Anita. When he got there, he found her shaking violently in his bedroom. Assuming she was cold from her bloody wet clothes, he stripped her and then dressed her in some of his clothes. He then gave her a couple blankets and sat holding her, trying to warm her up. Three hours later, she began shaking more violently than before and, without notice, died in Jon’s arms. Although he was disturbed by this, he also felt honored. This beautiful young lady, that everyone adored, could have died anywhere, but she chose to die in his arms. He was special.

The first thing Jon did once Anita died was strip her and then dress her in some of his mother’s best lingerie. He began to caress her body and whisper poems he had written about her into her cold dead ear. This made his legs start shaking. He was nervous and afraid he’d bite her tongue when he kissed her. Jon was very careful, though. At 26, this was his first kiss and he wanted it to be very special. And special it was. It began with a kiss on the cheek and slowly moved to the lips. After a few minutes of soft closed-mouth kissing, he decided it would only be appropriate to open up and have his tongue meet hers. This was done, and his small erect penis began to throb. Without thinking about it, he placed his hand on her right breast and gently massaged it. He then kissed her chest and licked her nipples because, afterall, this was as much about her as it was him.

Love always seemed a one-way street to Jon, but this intimate contact proved otherwise. After they had been a couple for only three days, he decided it was time to lose his virginity to the love of his life. He bought seven condoms from the machine in the bathroom of the gas station down the road, borrowed his father’s “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” record, and washed his sheets. He laid Anita down on the bed, quickly removed her clothing, and tried to put his middle finger into her vagina. It went in, but it was not the smoothest journey. Fortunately, he had a tub of Vaseline in the next room. A large handful was spread throughout her desert-dry genitalia, and everything was wonderful. Four hours, seven condoms, and eighteen plastic sandwich baggies later, Jon was asleep and dreaming about the beautiful woman decomposing in his arms.

6:49 a.m., and I’m done with this story

Death Of Joshua Aharon Stewart

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 04:18:42 GMT

July 23, 2001; 5:57pm

Death Of Joshua Aharon Stewart

Joshua Aharon Stewart died today, Monday July 23, 2001, in San Francisco, of natural causes. Born February 23, 1979, he lived a too-short life. It began in Van Nuys, a suburb of Los Angeles. He was born to Donald and Sandra, loving parents who would do anything for him and his brother Thomas.

Mr. Stewart’s childhood was far from extraordinary, but it was happy and full of good times. One unfortunate situation, however, was that he changed schools regularly. This caused him to become quite introverted. In junior high and high school, he made few friends. Most of his time was spent alone, in front of either a television or computer.

Wanting to make friends, he wore what his mother bought for him and had expensive haircuts and a collection of products that were designed to make his hair stiff. In his junior year of high school, Stewart wore more of what he wanted and stopped making his hair stiff because he had grown it long. He quickly met a girl, Yvonne Briones Rangel, who would become his first girlfriend.

In his senior year of high school, Stewart found himself back where he began – without a girl. He was sad but all right. A few months before graduating, he met a girl by the name of Natalie Anne Boyadjian. He felt they got along well enough to be in a normal, mature relationship. They were together for two years. Toward the end of those two years, Stewart’s brain began to fall apart. He was very depressed and suffered from Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD).

Shortly after the ending of the relationship with Boyadjian, Stewart found himself briefly involved with someone named Ana Marie Day. Immediately after their involvement, she became the girlfriend of his best friend, David Edward Enos. Miserable, Stewart found comfort in the frequent visits of Confucius, a small Asian man who lived long ago.

Wanting to become a new man, Stewart began wearing sunglasses and clothes without holes in them. He still did not feel good. In March of 2000, Stewart received an email from Sheila Renee Tamara Husting. They did not know each other but quickly became friends. Two and a half months later, in May, they met and found each other irresistible. Just over a year later, on July 12 of this year, Husting told Stewart that she thought their relationship would be better ended.

Husting was always amazed by Stewart’s inability to have fantasies, since she found great comfort in her own. During his last hours, friends heard him say this – “I think I finally have a fantasy, complete with fantasy girl and real emotions. She is a dream. I think you all know her.” He will be missed.

Completed at 6:19pm

Doug

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 04:17:17 GMT

5/12/01; 10:59 p.m.
listening to Rammstein

Doug

Hello, my name is Doug. I can’t remember my last name. This is because my brain space will not be wasted on such useless information. “Why not, Doug?,” you’re probably asking. Well, I’ll tell you. It is because I’m a professional disc-golfer. I have so much on my mind, little things like last names and remembering to wear pants escape me.

I have been a disc-golfer for eight years now. Though difficult, it is a very rewarding sport. Upon going pro, I realized nobody would care what I look like. This allowed me to follow through with one of my life-long dreams – to grow an eleven-inch beard. I always thought it would make my round face look long. “Nothin’ wrong with a long face,” I always told myself. Nothing wrong, indeed. The second reward would have to be all of the travel. Disc-golf has taken me as far away as Boise, Idaho. No shit. The third – and I don’t think I have to tell you this – is the disc-golf groupies. I don’t think I have to go into that one.

I’d say the most rewarding thing about the sport, though, is the love of the people. I know it looks like I’m living the life of a king, but that sometimes isn’t enough. “Doug, do you still love disc-golf like you used to?,” I often ask myself. “Does it still give you the same thrill, the feeling that you’re helping the human race move into new territory?” You know, sometimes I feel like I’m just throwing a dumb disc around and seeing where it lands, but it’s the love of the people that keeps me coming back. To see the look on the face of a child, one that says, “Doug, I want to grow up to be just like you. I want to be a disc-golf champ. I want to make this world a better place.” Well, do unto others as you would have them do unto you. I think I heard that somewhere important.

I’m sad to say this, but Henrietta has been stolen. Yes, Henrietta, my lucky disc. Sorry for the strong language, but some long-haired hippie motherfucker stole it. He and his tree-hugger girlfriend were driving around the Santa Cruz mountains in their nature-mobile, during the World D-G Championship. They stopped suddenly, and the guy jumped out. He snatched up Henrietta and started running back toward the car. I threw Mary-Sue at him, but she missed. She hit the ground, and then the hippie started running faster. So, I started yelling things like, “Hey, hippie! That disc is made of meat! You don’t like meat, do you?” I don’t think he heard me. I don’t know how or when, but that man is going to pay.

Sorry to get side-tracked like that. Aside from my loss of Henrietta, disc-golf is nothing if not wonderful. Magical, even. I have the beard to prove it.

more bad times

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 04:16:03 GMT

None of the anger here was being directed at the three people mentioned. Just so you know. Read:

September 21, 2001, in the evening

I feel bad, physically. I did not sleep much last night. I went out with David and Anie and Rachel. I don't want to write this anymore. Fuck you.

bad times, apparently

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 04:14:11 GMT

9/26/99; 1:28 a.m.
I’m alone in my apartment, crying

There once was a young man named Fred. Fred liked women lots. But every once in awhile a very special woman would come along and make him feel very nice and better than any other woman could. Then she would tear out his heart and set it on fire.

THE END

for some reason, this makes me laugh out loud

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 04:13:24 GMT

This is something I wrote up for a media class at SFSU. The assignment was to avoid all kinds of media for a couple days, or something. I obviously didn't do that and made up a bunch of semi-believable shit to hand in. And the assignment:

Note: This was typed up from my handwritten notes.

Media Avoidance, Day 1 (4/21/99)

11:28 AM: I just woke up. My morning class started 18 minutes ago. I don’t care, though. I feel like shit. I think I’ll lay here just a little while longer.

1:05 PM: It’s lunch time. The place has televisions set up so people can watch music videos while eating. I’m not facing the televisions but I can just barely hear bad music. It seems I’ve failed. I’ll try not to let this happen again.

1:23 PM: I’m back in my room. I think I’ll miss class number two, as well. I really just don’t feel well.

5:31 PM: It seems I fell asleep, and I had my log paper in my hand at the time. I don’t know where it is now. I hope I find it later.

5:35 PM: I found my log. I’m glad. I think I’ll have dinner now.

5:42 PM: I’m at dinner and having the same problem I had at lunch.

6:14 PM: While at dinner, someone I don’t like sat down with me. I’m not happy now. I hope someone good comes by soon. I’m bored and have nothing to do. I’m going to write a story.

6:36 PM: Writing a story was a bad idea, but someone came over. Things are okay now. I’ve now got something to do.

6:50 PM: My friend seems to think it’s odd that I can’t use any sort of media today. She doesn’t like it. She has a video in her hand and I think she thought she could watch it in here. Apparently, she was wrong (at least until I go to sleep).

8:08 PM: We’re bored. She asked me if she could check her email on my computer, and I said she couldn’t because I didn’t want to be tempted.

10:20 PM: My friend is still here and no one else has come by. This is pretty strange. I have no idea where my roommate is. He came in a little after nine, said he was going down to the vending machines, and we haven’t seen him since. I guess he ran into someone.

10:44 PM: My roommate’s back and has brought popcorn. We’re all happy.

11:59 PM: Another friend is here and wants to listen to a record he got today. I told him I’ll be going to sleep soon and that he can listen to it then.

12:25 AM: I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.

Media Avoidance, Day 2 (4/24/99)

1:09 PM: I just woke up. It’s laundry day.

1:35 PM: I need to have lunch first. I’m going to go down to the vending machines and get a sandwich.

1:41 PM: I have a sandwich. I also have seven dollars in quarters for my laundry.

2:35 PM: I have just put all of my laundry in washing machines.

3:19 PM: I have just put all of my laundry in dryers.

3:45 PM: I’m just sitting here, waiting for my clothes to be dry. I have nothing better to do.

4:14 PM: My clothes are dry.

5:03 PM: All of newly-clean clothes have been folded and put in the closet. I am now off to the bathroom for a shower.

6:38 PM: I just got back from long shower. I feel clean and good. I’m now going to try and find some of my friends and see if they want to get a pizza. I missed dinner and I’m very hungry.

7:05 PM: I found some friends and they do want pizza.

7:18 PM: The pizza has been ordered and should be here in 45 minutes.

8:10 PM: It’s been nearly an hour and no word from the pizza place.

8:12 PM: The pizza’s here.

11:06 PM: All of the food’s gone. We’re all kind of depressed. We’ve all had bad days and we’re feeling crappy.

1:30 AM: I can’t stand to be awake anymore. I need to go to sleep now. Goodnight.

a story about a yeti

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 04:04:17 GMT

January 30, 2003, 8:26 p.m., at Sheila's house

I am what some people would call a "yeti." I say "some" because most people would think of me as "bigfoot" or "sasquatch." "Yeti" isn't very popular. But that has nothing to do with the important things I have to say. Yesterday, I went to the mall. I'd never been to a mall before. I'd seen them on television and in movies, so I felt like I should finally experience it. Oh dear.

When I arrived at the mall, I found a large group of kids out front. They all had cigarettes, but none of them had a light. "Hey, you, big hairy guy," one of the kids yelled. "You got a light, man?" I didn't have one, being a yeti and all. "No, son, I'm sorry. I don't have a light for you." Already, things were not going well.

Once inside, I found a store called Sharper Image. What seem to be their most popular items are the ones that involve painful vibration and stabbing motions. I look around, I realize I'm much hairier than the others and that I'm also the only one not wearing clothes, but I always thought yetis and people were basically the same physically. I guess they either are not or that they are better at dealing with pain. I wouldn't do well with World's Best Hair Remover.

Another memorable store was something I think was called Hot Topic. Its customers were mostly angry young girls with dark and occasionally net-like clothing, perhaps with pictures of skulls or people with names like Linkin Park. One of them told me I looked like a hippie and that I should wear a Disturbed t-shirt with some black vinyl pants and aviator goggles, and then I would be cool.

a story from '96 about my old friend Lindsay

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 03:59:03 GMT

“Lindsay and the Macaroni People”

“Bye, mom! I’m going to the party now,” Lindsay said while checking her lipstick in the mirror next to the front door. Little did she know she would never make it to the party - on the way there she would be transplanted into another dimension ruled by the Macaroni People.

The party Lindsay was to attend was just around the corner, at the house of a friend she’s known for most of her life. As she was rounding the corner, she heard some voices in the bushes. The people who were hiding in them heard her passing by and jumped out and into her path. Standing before Lindsay was something she had never seen before - a six-foot piece of macaroni with arms and legs!

“Um... hi.”

“We are from the Macaroni Dimension, and have been sent to your dimension to return with a specimen.”

“Yeah... sure... great... right... whatever.”

“You think we are lying? Do we frighten you? Do you think of us as freaks?”

“Pretty much. Take that as an answer to all three of your questions.”

“I think we have found the perfect specimen, Colonel Kraft. We must return to the Macaroni Dimension at once, and take this young human female with us.”

“Yeah? You and what army?” The Macaroni Army appears. “Oh, I see.”

The Macaroni Army marched Lindsay to their Macaroni Dimension Jumper™, strapped her in, and drenched her in cheese (it makes moving through the various dimensions a little smoother). The first few seconds of dimension jumping can be very frightening - you feel and see your entire body blow apart; your eyes pop out of your head, your teeth fall out, your skin falls off, your bones lose their connection, and all your organs fly around. This can be very unnerving to a first-time jumper, but, once you reach your destination, your body reforms and all is okay. The whole thing about the body falling apart made Lindsay want to throw up, but, fortunately, she couldn’t since her mouth was nowhere near her stomach.

Upon reaching the Macaroni Dimension, the Macaroni Army gave Lindsay a long talk about what to do and what not to do in their world. The rules are as follows:
1) Do not lick another person’s cheese.
2) Do not crawl into the center of a person and/or use them as a sleeping bag.
3) Do not, under any circumstances, eat the dead; that’s just creepy.

Colonel Kraft and General Foods (the guy who was talking to Lindsay earlier in the story) took Lindsay to President Boyardee.

“Come in, young human.”

“Hello, Mr. President.”

“My men have sent information about you. Your name is Lindsay Hyland?”

“Yes. What do you want with me?”

“We’re systematically exterminating the entire human race. You people are sick. You eat macaroni and cheese without thinking twice. You never stop and think that that macaroni was once someone’s child. It never even crosses your minds to eat the more elderly macaroni. You take all of our children, smother them in phony cheese, and suck them down.”

“I don’t like macaroni and cheese.”

“Of course you do. All humans like macaroni and cheese, and you eat it for every meal. Are you calling me a liar?”

“I’m not calling you anything. I’m just saying that I’m not too big a fan of macaroni and cheese. I don’t like macaroni salad. I don’t really like anything that has anything to do with macaroni.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I’ve been too hasty....”

“It seems you have.”

“Okay, bye. Have a nice trip. Sorry for the inconvenience. My men will bring you back to your dimension.”

Grandma's House

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 03:51:58 GMT

Josh Stewart
Period #2
2-20-97

“grandma’s house”

“no mommy
I don’t wanna”
“do it you little brat
wanna get hit?”
“please don’t do it
mommy
I’ll be good
I promise”
“why do you lie to me?
you little piece of crap
I should’ve aborted you
you’ve given me nothing but misery”
“mommy
what’s wrong with your face?
it’s changing
why are your eyes red?
why are your teeth pointy?
your skin is wrinkly and weird
what’s happening to you?
get away
please
don’t touch me”
I gotta run
I can’t stop
mommy will kill me if I do
she’s bad now
I don’t know why
what’s wrong with her?
she’s always been so nice
she always made me happy
I made her happy
I don’t know why she’s like this
the bathroom
the bathroom’s a good place to hide
I’ll be safe there
then daddy will get home
he’ll save me
“where are you?
you’re so worthless
I should’ve killed you as a baby”
okay good
I’m safe in here
she can’t get me in here
I locked the door
it’s a big door
daddy will be here soon
he’ll make mommy better
and I’ll be okay
and we’ll all be okay
and everything will be good again
mommy and me and daddy
we’ll all be happy
I think I hear her
she’s hitting the door
but she can’t break it
it’s too big
oh no
she’s hitting it real hard
maybe she can break it
but she’s not that strong
she’s my mommy
and she’s not a monster
usually
but she’s a monster now
“mommy
you’re in the bathroom”
“thought you could hide from me?”
“no
honest”
“you’ll never get another chance”
“mommy
please don’t
mommy....”

False

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 03:50:52 GMT

Josh Stewart
Period #2
5/2/97

Opening Sentence Story - “False”

Clarence stared at himself in the mirror, trying to figure out what was wrong with him and what made him do what he had done. He stood there for hours, just looking, examining everything about him, inside and out. He was going over everything that had happened to him in his 21 years. He was trying to put his finger on exactly what made him who he was.

When Clarence was a child, his life was pretty much just that of an average kid. He played with the popular toys, watched the popular cartoons, and played games with his friends, but there was always something wrong that no one saw but him - he had thoughts. He often had dreams or images of his mother killing and mutilating him, of large tongues licking him up and down and then pulling him into the throat, or of people being tortured while tied up and naked, just to name a few. These were obviously a problem, but not in that they scared him. The problem was that they didn’t scare him in the least. He never really thought much of them. They were just thoughts to Clarence, and never became anything more for him.

Clarence and everyone else always knew he was a bit different. He was slightly abnormal as a child, but in his teenage years was when he really became an outcast. The dreams and images continued, but still weren’t a problem for him. The problem was society. He saw that everyone around him was only concerned with outer beauty and popularity and being someone they were not. Clarence never fully understood this. He couldn’t figure out why someone would want to change who they were and suppress their natural feelings and desires. To him, there were much more important things in life. He saw people dying of hunger and AIDS, buildings being blown up and killing hundreds of innocent people, wars all over the world destroying lives and the occasional country, and other things along those lines. In his opinion, life was just too short too waste, and, to him, being phony is the biggest way to waste it.

Whenever Clarence went anywhere, he found at least a few people who hated him, and the reason for this hatred was that he did not look like everyone else. He “marched to the beat of a different drummer,” and that was just fine with him, but apparently others didn’t think so. People loved to call him a “freak” or a “f*g” just because he acted and dressed in his own way, not giving any thought to what the norm was. Although the insults on their own didn’t bother him, they did get rather tiresome after awhile.

Looking in the mirror, Clarence thought about all this. He thought about the dreams and images and how they didn’t frighten him, but did manage to desensitize him in some ways. He was still very much disturbed by all that’s wrong in the world, but he knew he couldn’t go along with the Christian idea of “love everybody” and that he could never allow anyone to control or limit him. He had to be strong and be his own God. But no matter how strong he got, the constant barrage of insults and criticism got to him. It was so regular and so heavy, he began to break. Anything at all, at any time, could have caused him to snap, and that “anything” happened. He still lived with his parents, and he lost his job. His father came home, gave him a big speech about finding some direction in his life, and Clarence jammed a butter knife into his father’s forehead.

I'm not sure, either

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 03:49:29 GMT

I found this on my computer a few minutes ago. I have no memory of writing it, it's not dated, and I'm not sure if I was done with it. Here you go:

when i look around
and i like what i see
i take a look down
and i find a key
i take it from the dirt
and i brush it off nice
and i wake up in the morning
with my hair full of lice

Death of an Innocent Soufflé

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 03:46:11 GMT

Josh Stewart
Period #2
3/21/97

“Death of an Innocent Soufflé”

sterilize every inch of the kitchen
close all windows and doors
dim lights
take one baby
place gently in bowl
knead until soft
cover baby with a thick layer of protection
add a pinch of comfort
sprinkle on lies
deception
and so-called morality
transfer to much larger bowl
stir
pour on generous helpings of greed
crime
sex
and so-called immorality
boil
add alienation
place baby in oven
let cook until it shrivels
burns
and dies