lostinthefog

2003-04-06T03:02:00.000-07:00

The Obsessions

Tantamount to cold love,
The ripples of reality shudder.
Memories, aspirations
Fall away.

Desire leaves him,
Hope seems a friend.
When
Each cloud, Each star
Is A punishment
For what he is,
/ was.

Reality stamps its feet
Gentlemen, Ladies
Take back row seets.

Watch this boy,
Watch him
Watch him
Watch him weep
Sleep, Cry
Die,

Now.

All that shattered apart
And bounced on the ocean floor
Twice
But with a last breath.

Waiting for words
To be true.
To be
The painless end.
It consumes you through!

Hope is a jealous friend...
Hope is a lasting friend.

Sitting on the last peer
And watching it all
Disappear. Slips away.
New temptation hisses,
For starlight suicide.

From a Seafaring obsession,
From your quaint little life,

Watch him sleep.

2003-03-26T08:27:00.000-08:00

Two Lives Met

Two foes’ hides were burning,
And they fell to ground, together.
They lay there, prayers murmering.
Two men, to suffocate in sound, forever.

Bombs pound the Earth, in a pious touch;
And they lie there, pounded as foes.
Two men who have no quarrel, not as such;
And who the other is, neither cares nor knows.

One man draws a dagger, tired, wheezing.
The other, in shock, fires and shoots him;
As he plunges his blade into the other, so deep.
They both slip gently, into His eternal sleep.

In the scourge of war, under the dagger;
Two men died, they died as brothers.
Two wives wept, two sons will cry.
But fear not! Brave soldier, you march by.

2003-03-25T10:06:00.000-08:00

Castle On The Sea

Sitting upon those salient hills;
Where a measureless ocean spills,
Into the horizon. And furthermore,
Where the present thanks the past,
And all clouds meet a last moor...
Each passing day is a valiant mast,
Which sails with complaisant beauty,
Yielding its jovial bounty,
To brave new worlds afar,
For an auspicious morrow.
Every hour is free hereafter,
From the vices, from the sorrow;
Hold eternity in your palms,
And whisper your secrets to her;
For last days walk away,
But walk they will forever.

2002-12-13T10:43:00.000-08:00

for nike's s

2002-12-12T11:44:00.000-08:00

mental boy

mental boy takes illegal pills
see, mental boy isn't happy
mental boy doesn't like friends
but mental boy won't smack me

mental boy loves those who hate him
and mental boy plays with his dreams
only this boy understands them
mental boy likes you too it seams

mental boy sleeps after school
trying to forget people
mental boy dreams about a zoo
mental boy thinks you are there too

mental boy always wants peace and quiet
so mental boy is alone all day
mental boy saw a gun and thought he'd try it
mental boy had nothing more to say

mental boy ran all the way to school one day
the gun in his boxing shorts the papers say

all his love was hidden away
in a closed box of silent dismay
by years of finger-pointing
years of abuse
of teasing of tormenting
they always told him had no use

thinking he was really mental boy
mental boy said he wasn't our toy
people never asked him why
and now the end was really nigh

mental boy entered class
crying in pure exhaustion
mental boy took out his gun
and mental boy killed everyone

2002-12-12T11:26:00.000-08:00

night falls, gone to spoil
twenty giraffes in turmoil
drinking from my will
pissing down starlight hill
laughing lemons off my chest
eating gossip without the zest
killing me with their smiles
as bubble gum paedophiles
slowly plot their demise
while they listen out for jesus christ

2002-12-05T12:50:00.000-08:00

naive

naive little one
follows me everywhere
thinks he's fun
all things i can't bear

smiles benignly
ignorant in stealth
always telling me
i underestimate myself

spouts rubbish
thinks here's here to help me
and i only wish
he'd just let go of me

naive little one
you think you're the sun
but you end up hurting me
that, you won't even see

2002-12-05T12:33:00.000-08:00

bitch's brew

the blog has not been abandoned, it's simply maturing for a while...

2002-11-23T10:05:00.000-08:00

copy cat

i wrote this random thing today - i wass trying to imitate jd-slinger syle (catcher in the rye). leave a comment if you can...

I got to the Café at about nine in the evening. There was a light breeze in the air, it was quite warm and pleasant, and I was actually not feeling too bad. The café itself had chairs spread out all over this large square, surrounded by tall, sculpturesque leafy trees and clusters of afternoon walkers and drinkers. The sun had disappeared behind a large building - maybe a bank or soemthing - and had left the sky around it a smug pinky-orange. I glanced through the café chairs, one by one, no sign of Tom yet.

I found a good table - it wasn't too far from a fountain, I thought the sound of the water would be a nice backdrop to our conversation. The square was surpisingly quiet, despite a number of other people around it. It was a strange silence, it wasn't total, but it was reassuring - occasionally interputed by a brooding pigeon or a furtive laugh from one of the café tables. The waitor made his way to me.

I felt like drinking something interesting. I don't know why - but that particular evening I was feeling mildly adventurous. Maybe it was the scenery, or the fact that Tom would be bringing his new girlfriend, who he babbled on about to me on the phone when I was back in Florence. That really pissed me off. I barely had any cash in the phone box, and I was really depressed. I just wanted to talk about soemthing, anything uplifting. You see, I usually call my friend Paul in those cases - I just didn't call him this time, for a change. Anyway, I was sort of looking forward to meeting this new girl, Becky, or Vicky, or whatever she was called.

"Just a coke please" I told the waitor as he towered over my chair. Why did I order a coke? Sometimes I just think to much and forget these things. I thought to call him back and change my mind, but those things are pretty lame to do. It would have made me feel stupid. I like things to coincide soemwhat, and that would clearly not have suited the evening.

I was starting to feel pretty sick of this. I could still get out of this and go soemplace else. In fact the idea of having Tom here for tow hours was starting to bother me slightly. I had forgotten what an annoying bastard he was soemtimes. It's the way he talks and what he talks about. He talks with a dried out middle-pitched sqwauk, as if he had a small brush stuffed in his throat. And he always kind of winces when he's finished telling you something, like a kind of discreet flinch as if to say 'over'. The other thing about Tom, is he talks a lot, which is fine by me, except he talks a lot about himself. I'm interested in people to a certain extent, but really not that much. I mean for christ's sakes, all he ever talks about are stupid boring things that have happened to him in his stupid little life, his goddam friends, his goddam work - it just gets out of hand. I find myself daydreaming about things while he talks on and on about real rubbish, anything sets it off - I just grunt occasionally to reconfirm my presence.

I reached for my wallet, half thinking I could just pay and get the hell out. But lo and behold, lousy old Tom started shouting across the square in his stupid voice "Hey! Hey Stan! Hey!". Oh my god, I nearly died of embarassment. You don't just shout like a horse in a quiet peaceful square. You just don't do it. A few people shifted in their seats, other peared at me from behind their drinks and books. What a moron, I could have killed him. He came up to my table panting like the moron he is. He was wearing a bloody scarf. Noone wears scarfes in France in the middle of August. I wanted to strangle him with it. I would have.

Just as I was about to launch into a pile of phony enthusiasm, I was cut short by what's-her-name. "this is, uh, this is Stephy" He said clumbsilly, and shoved an attractive something year old in front of my nose, holding her by the shoulders. I greeted her, and really felt sorry for her. "Stephy"? I asked Tom... "Yuh, Stephy - right".

"It's actually short for Stephany" she said laughing. What an ugly name. What a stupid girl too. I could just picture both of them, walking along th ebeach or soemthing, laughiong at their corny jokes. for a second I had them pictured. I really did. They were like the kind of couple who would by ice creams and give them too poor kids, and talk abotu what they did all afternoon. they'd think they were really very charitable people. what bastards. i was already scik of them.

She just sat down. There wasn't a third chair, so Tom clumbisly asked the people on the next table if he could take one of theirs. They stared back blankly, and I leaned over and asked for him in French. I hate it when people go abroad and expect people to speak their stupid language. Stephy giggled stupidly and Tom started to laugh with her to save himself embarassment. Stephy started laughing so hard her breasts jumped up and down. she mad eme think of some whorey money-graber, and suddenly I wondered whether Tom knew what he had got himself into. Then I realised that Steph was exactly Tom's kind of girl, all phony and all. They both looked completely stupid, I was so embarassed. god they embarassed the hell out of me.

"Tom tells me you play music, Stanley" Stephy shot across the table, still smiling her ignorant smile. I don't know what she was expecting me to reply. "Yes, Yes I Do..." I answered distantly. "Oh, how wonderful! what do you play? What kind of music?" She made me feel sick. She was so phony, so boring. I just wanted to leave. I wante to get up and take my coat and leave. Tom kept staring at the side of her face, smiling, as if he was really proud of her.

I told her i played the trumpet. I told her I played in bars and places, mostly jazz. With friends and stuff. I had quite a good group really. We had a good basist from Milan, called Freddo. He had curly long black hair which the women liked. He was a druggy type really, but at least he shut his fucking mouth and did something useful now and then. We play with this other guy, from Wales. He's a violinist - he's frankly quite uninteresting, but he plays the violin like a god. He really does. Stephy was drawling some rubbish about her nephew Rory who played the bugel or soemthing in the school orchestra back home in New Haven, Connecticut. God she was boring. She bored me so much I felt sorry for her, for the second time that evening. In fact the only good thing about her is she kept Tom shut up, who was really quite overtaken by his girlfriend's superiority when it came to sheer pain-in-the-assitude.

The conversation dragged on. I wasn't really listening to much of it. More drinks appeared ont he table. soemhow I was stuck with another coke. That really did me in. I sat sipping it, feeling stupid, and wondering when and how I would be able to get out of this. And then Tom did soemthing quite stupid.

"Stan, we got soemthing to tell you" - he said, grinning. He looked at Stephy and held her hand. I felt like puking it wa sso phony. I could feel soemthing really corny coming. "Stan, we're going to get married - in the spring!" Stephy blurted out. She looked at me strangely, as if I should jump with joy or cry or something. the funny thing was, I really just couldn't give a piss. I really didn't. I mean, here was some stupid bitch with an IQ probably below her beast size, and some stupid fuck I had met in High School. And there they were, getting married. Big fucking deal.

"That's great..I'm really happy for you" I grinned, or tried to. I can never tell what I look like when I'm making these stupid phony expressions. I should look in the mirror sometime and check myself out. I drank some more coke, and looked at Tom - he seemd like he had soem more fabulous news to break to me.

"And we want you to be best man, Stan" He said, mashing up the last few words with excitement. Oh my god - that really killed me. I mean, I wouldn't have minded being his best man and all - but I felt sorry for him really. The thing is, I hate the guy's guts really. He thinks i like him, he does, but I really don't . In fact, I hardly ever see him much these days, just when we're both in town, for a drink or something, that's all. I felt like I would sort of be betraying him, or be being dishonest if I accepted his offer. And then I suddenly thought about him, as he sat there smiling at me. If he considered me one of his best freinds, since he had chosen me for his best man, well then he must really have very few friends. And they must all be real bores. Got it made me feel depressed. they were both depressing me really.

"Stan, you and me go back so far. It would really be an honour to have you there by my side on the big day'. He said that through a terribly phony grin. It was all so sickening. I'd had enough. First the coke, then Tom, then his stupid girlfirend and his stupid wedding. "Sure", I shrugged. Christ I can really be a fucking moron sometimes. i finished my coke.

"Can we get you another coke, Stan?" Stephy said. Why was she calling me that, 'Stan'? Only my mates called me Stan. God she felt weird. So did he. It was so strange. "Aight" I said.

2002-11-22T12:16:00.000-08:00

today i discovered that one my first uncle (who i have never met) suffers from chronic schizophrenia. i find the disorder quite fascinating. it's almost a way of the brain to reject the environment imposed on it by society. schezophrenics also do quite beautiful things, for instance tom harrel is an outstanding schezophrenic jazz musician.

"Auditory hallucinations, the most common form, involve hearing voices that are perceived to be inside or outside of the person's body. Sometimes the voices are complimentary, reassuring, neutral. Sometimes they are threatening, punitive, frightening, and may command the individual to do things that may be harmful. "

brrr

"Delusions are strange and steadfast beliefs that are held only by the observer and that remain despite obvious evidence to the contrary. For example, red and green traffic signals may be interpreted by someone with schizophrenia as instructions from space aliens. Many people with schizophrenia who suffer from persecution delusions are termed "paranoid." They believe that they are being watched, spied upon, or plotted against. A common delusion is that one's thoughts are being broadcast over the radio or television, or that other people are controlling the ill person's thoughts. Delusions are resistant to reason. It is of no use to argue that the delusion is not "real."

smells like déja vu

"Thought disorder refers to problems in the way that a person with schizophrenia processes and organizes thoughts. For example, the person may be unable to connect thoughts into logical sequences. "Racing thoughts" come and go so rapidly that it is not possible to "catch them." Because thinking is disorganized and fragmented, the ill person's speech is often incoherent and illogical. Thought disorder is frequently accompanied by inappropriate emotional responses: words and mood do not appear in tune with each other. The result may be something like laughing when speaking of sombre or frightening events. "

this killed me:

Schizophrenia may develop so gradually that the family and even the person with the disease may not realize that anything is wrong for a long period of time. This slow deterioration is referred to as gradual-onset or insidious schizophrenia. A gradual build-up of symptoms may or may not lead to an acute or crisis episode of schizophrenia. An acute episode is short and intense, and involves hallucinations, delusions, thought disorder, and an altered sense of self.

2002-11-20T12:54:00.000-08:00

#2

you're not quite dead yet
sometimes i wish you were

you spun my world
on your little finger
or that's what i was told
when you tried to kill her

you make me hate me
like noone can save me
you wanted it all this way
you craved the dismay

and then i feel guilty
when you sit crying in the night
and i tell you you're being silly
and you tell me to get out of your sight

kill yourself then
i'll love you more
but don't ask for me again
next time you're on the kitchen floor

a knife in one hand
tears in the other
another coffin filled with sand
that was once my mother

i love you too much to help you
and since the first day i met you
all i wanted was for you to smile
now you're walking your last mile

and now noone can stop you
and if what they say is true
i have already lost you
i forgot to say i love you

lying there, waiting to die
can't even cry
as you slip away
it didn't have to be this way

i would have spent my life with you
nothing you said was true
you see, i do love you
i just thought you knew

2002-11-20T08:34:00.000-08:00

spinning

today i have been quite happy.

i am listening to a new cd, called 'electro-shock blues' by a band called the eels. it's a very beautiful cd with heart felt, dark and sorrowful lyrics. it's really nice, a break from all the happy go lucky i tend to get taken away with.

music is an escape from routine, daily life and its bores. listening to a good album from start to finish in the dark is one of my favourite things to do. your mind wanders away from your troubles, and for a short while you can fade away into your thoughts.

identifying a beautiful piece of music is an interesting thing to do. i tend not to bother with where it is from, who made it or so on. i look for nice melodies and poignant lyrics.... i just listen to it and see how it makes me feel.

listening to nsync does not inspire me emotionally at all - maybe it inspires other people, but i'm not a person who falls for empty lyrics and ripped off beats.

i like most things musical. i listen to a lot of things, from burnt out indie bands and organic electronica to opera and classical. in fact, the one time i went to the opera to see 'messiah' (in venice) i cried through a lot of it like a baby.

go and see messiah - as my best friend says: "messiah... ça, c'est de la musique."

2002-11-19T12:55:00.000-08:00

rain, notebook, pen, bus stop and a field of depression=

#1

there are so many things
that have sent me six feet under
and back again
like heartaches of thunder

things i've always wanted to tell you
but they all hurt they're so true

and i'd need to pulp a whole forest
drink an ocean of ink
and stop the world turning
because i need silence to think

but you don't love me enough to care
or at least that's what you pretend

this world is a happy place
but not that happy really

and i never knew i loved you
until the last time i ever saw you

2002-11-18T09:28:00.000-08:00

why the tack?

i wonder why so many people miss the beauty in this world. they rush around with their busy lives, building their little worlds, and the forget to look at things, to feel them - to embrace their beauty. and i do wonder where inspiration comes from without beauty? where does it come from? the truth is, inspiration without beauty is not inspiration: it's pretentious tack.

so, dear blog reader, do something on my behalf. tomorrow go to the park, and watch a tree for ten minutes. watch it move, try and understand it, contemplate its very existence, watch it "be" - and maybe you'll find some inspiration to apply to your own little life.

2002-11-18T05:31:00.000-08:00

dolcum et decorum es pro deus more

or not.

religion is a complicated bitch of life. the common assumption appears to be that people are either religous, or atheists. i think this is untrue

in essence, religion is based on two things:

- fear of a mythical divine being
- some sort of morality paradigm

an athiest is a godless person. however, by "god", does this mean a man with a beard in the sky, or can the terminology be given wider scope? the diversity of the religions up for sale on earth would imply the latter.

i myself fall into neither category. i don't consider myself religous, but neither do i refuse to believe in something.

that something cannot be defined. it's a a spiritual spectrum, chosen by its believer in total subjectivity - simple because all we have is circumstantial evidence of it; or more exactly, what 'it' has done.

some people like to think that 'it' speaks english, is white, has a beard and once benignly pronounced "let there be light", and then, there was light. or so we are told. or more realistically, wouldn't this just be one human interpretation among millions. whatever each religion's variances are, the one consensus seems to be that something created the universe.

and that something exists because what it did is all around us, everywhere - and that is all we need to know. does that something love us? does it think? does it look like a human? what's its name? did it send a messenger to us?

these are all questions religion has naively tried to answer. does this make religions useless? the answer is no.

religions build communities, religions give people a spiritual guide in life, religions teach people moralities, in brief, religions keep people alive. in these senses, i am a deeply religous person, but in these senses alone. i do not believe in the diverse, narrow minded and naive interpretations of sprituality. a quick study of humanity proves that each of them is 'incidentally' based on historical precedents.

these 'interpretations' exist solely for the purpose of keeping people bound to a certain morality paradigm. for example, in the middle ages, a fear of the plague was one of the driving factors for a religion boom. haven't you ever said 'bless-you' when somebody coughed or sneezed?

the truth may be that the human mind is to introspective and reliant on circumsribed groups of emotional phenomena to ever understand our spiritual origins. whether they be based on magic, or simple science. i doubt our creator is listening out with us, beard clipper in one hand, crucifix in the other.

2002-11-17T10:46:00.000-08:00

tink-

that comment on my blog was not at all there to take the piss - i was obviously laughig about it, i wouldn't be so stupid as to post abuse on my blog where you can read it.

second, you are correct - i did put 'americans' under my list of people i look down on. but how convenient that you should omit the first part of that sentence, which reads:

people i look up to: chomsky, aristotle, gandhi, che guevara, einstein, miles davis, steve jobs, muhammad ali, malcom x, martin luther king, churchill, tom ripley, americans

and by 'americans' am i generalising? i think not, read the email i sent you about what i thought about america.

i just don't like people coming to *my* space and invading *my* life when they don't even know me.

if that's how you see it, so be it.

i don't like people assuming that just because i'm an american, i'm pompous and believe i'm better than other people.

didn't say that. read my email to you, clearly states that i think you're cool.

so why assume things about groups of people *you* don't personally know?

did i?

you have a big ego? well, i have a much larger temper...and i know which would win if put into the ring.

neither, because i'm not fighting or willing to fight with you.

your self-righteous attitude is pissing my friends and me off.

you know what. it was your friend book who mocked me so presumptuously on your comment page.

yes, i linked to your site, but that didn't mean an official invitation was extended to you to traipse through on your own time and turn my little world upside down.

did i? did i really walk into your life? you're so mistaken. i am on your computer screen and you choose to read what i say - and i will no longer say anything because we both have better things to do.

deal with it

obviously our senses of humour are incompatible - i'll change my blog design, and leave you alone, and in a month you won't even remember me.

2002-11-17T02:57:00.000-08:00

walking through streets unknown

every day is a discovery for me. every day is another term in the endless equation that is life. every new day is unknown, and every day we are pushing towards the future and we can't stop it. we're like trains with engines that can never stop, heading for a gigantic concrete wall.

so who am i in all this? this is the question i wish soemone could answer for me. i do not know where my place is, i don't know who i am. and i know where i'm from but i don't know where i'm going. i don't know whether i'm riding the same train as you, i don't now whether i'm in one at all. i know a few things about me that might help me answer this question.

i am unable to understand my identity but i know one thing. my biggest problem is a know i'm a lot smarter than most people in this world, and i have no idea how to deal with it. there's no manual explaining to people how to deal with being a genius. i hate it. i hate everything about it. i wish i was stupid, and fat and a plumber. i wish i didn't have to try and find a solution to every problem, i wish i didn't see so many imperfections in everything. i sound so arrogant. i can see all of my imperfections, i can make concessions before i've finished thinking of processions. people are always telling me how smart i am and how i will change the world one day, and it fuels my need for more compliments; more praise. because my intellect is my only identity. the only thing i have to hold onto, to be sure about.

i couldn't tell you whether i'm ugly, nice, not nice, selfish. i can't put a label on my personality because i was born without one. i envy people who have personalities. i envy them because they have identities in this world of shit. they get depressed and pissed off, they bitch about ego-damage, but at least they have an ego to be damaged.

i copy what these people do because i want to be like them. i want somebody else's life. i want to know who i am but i don't. i don't want to give up with the gift i have, but it's eating away at me. i can't sleep, i have no self confidence, i seem to think everything has to be perfect, or it is a disappointment. i try to think relatively, but then i worry about the variables i have chosen, since i am part of the lucky top 30% of the world's population who live off more than $2 a day. i'm guilty about how i live, but i can' change it.

i want to stop copying other people, because i know it won't give me back my personality.

there is one fictive person who i can relate to best: tom ripley from a film and book called 'the talented mr ripley'. he ends up murdering soemone to steal his identity. "I always thought it'd be better to be a fake somebody than a real nobody."

things i want to do with my life: do an intl bac, study social sciences at yale, be prime minister of uk, fix the uk's social system, promote international peace, develop international community, reform the un, stop third world exploitation, reduce social disparities, do something major for the environment, write some fiction books, write an autobiography, play the cornet on a warm italian evening, travel around the world, cook pasta and fall in love.
things i don't want to do: kill anyone, die, take people who love me for granted, be hated
people i look up to: chomsky, aristotle, gandhi, che guevara, einstein, miles davis, steve jobs, muhammad ali, malcom x, martin luther king, churchill, tom ripley, americans
people i look down on: neoliberals, free trade cronies, fascists, jingoists, americans
thing i hate: bigoted patriotism

2002-11-17T01:07:00.000-08:00

marx was a phony, like moi

karl marx, best known for writing 500 pages of incomprehensible garbage called kapital was a thief by all means. in fact, it's seriously doubtable whether he contributed anything of value to the socialism movement. it was friedrich engels who wrote marx's articles, engels who gave marx notes for his books, engels who wrote the communist manifesto, engels who did the research and engels who died poor and lonely. why did this happen? because marx saw the value in engel's work, but engels was a coward and would never have acheived what marx did.

steve job's apple team went to visit p.a.r.c in the early eighties. he walked into one of the rooms and found a nerd messing around with a computer screen with clickable pictures and 'windows'. he stole the idea, and created the most revolutionary computer of all time: the mac.

what is the difference between stealing and copying? you steal somethin because you see value in it, you copy it because you see value in what it has done for soemone else. stealing requires that you recognise something's value before its owner has.

so what the fuck do i care if i stole everything my theftful personality from steve jobs, my haircut from che guevara, and my blog from some, some other person? well i do care. because it's eating away at me like a firey-eyed mouth-throthing pitbul on heat. time to put her down.

mood: i stole this feature
in my headphones: eels - mr e's beautiful blues (stole it off gnutella)

ps. tink, if you're reading this, i'll leave you alone now - i didn't actually expect you'd get so pissed off at a joke. no hard feelings - my fault.

2002-11-16T12:06:00.000-08:00

novocaine for the soul

this is me when i was littew! back then, in um 1991, i was a very cool dude. i pulled lots of girls, played in a rock band called 'the land of poggle' and basically lived like a king. then it all went to pot.

and now i'm off to the "cinema" to see a "film"

oh, yippy.

mood: satiric autoderision
in my headphones: oasis ~ champagne supernova

2002-11-16T06:27:00.000-08:00

and santa smiled benignly from his sleigh

thanks to all those (280 of you) who voted my blog to the top of the Bloghop.com Charts. now that 200 people are reading my words on a regular basis, how about leaving a comment for moi?

today was more or less an: arrrgggggggg!!!!! one. this is probably an illusion, but i honestly have the impression that everyone i ever thought cared about me now doesn't. i'm also beginning to think that... arg... people think i'm an ignorant, presumptuous bastard. why is all zis happening? like most cases, i suspect that this is 99% inside me. a cummulation of tiny little things are pissing me off, which are so trivial and stupid i won't bother to summon to the surface of this page.

now the people at nbti seem to have it in their heads that i want to merge my magazine with theirs. i said no no no, but they keep pestering me. the truth is: i find their site good, but childish and too, well too cheapo. mine concentrates not only on intellecutal left wing analysis but also on urban appeal and the 'cool' facotor. we ignore the fact that we're teens and young adults, we don't even refer to teens as teens, but the urban generation. these guys call their site news-by-teens and is run by dorks with no sense of cool. thats just my personal theory, and i offer no apology because i don't fucking care what i say about anybody.

plus it's an ego thing.

and i'm sick of pesky french naive scabs emailing me as if i liked them. i do not like you you bastards, forget my email address, forget me, forget this name. forget i ever looked like i may like you.

and tink posted an inline detail of all her personal luxuries at her embarassment after i pestered her for hair spray brands. HAHA.

anyway, my weekend is now officially starting. yep, i have to spend my saturday mornings at school. hell. hell. hell.

mood: who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you want from me? wait... you want soemthing from ME? :-D
in my headphones: marilyn manson ~ fight song

2002-11-15T12:11:00.000-08:00
I Like Birds

I can't look at the rocket launch
The trophy wives of the astronauts
And I won't listen to their words
'cause I like
birds

I don't care for walkin' downtown
Crazy auto-car gonna mow me down
Look at all the people like cows in a herd
Well, I like
birds

If you're small and on a search
I've got a feeder for you to perch on

I can't stand in line at the store
The mean little people are such a bore
But it's alright if you act like a turd
'cause I like
birds

If you're small and on a search
I've got a feeder for you to perch on
I've got a feeder for you to perch on
If you're small and on a search
I've got a feeder for you to perch on
I've got a feeder for you to perch on

Eels ~ I like birds

2002-11-15T09:16:00.000-08:00
fascist cherries on horse back

if you have some appreciation for quasi fascist humour, visit this site

and savour this joke:

"yeah, don't be nasty. my grandad died in a concentration camp......! he fell out a guard tower. broke his neck"

today i went to the school newspaper club. they run some *really* incredibly tacky, corny, arrogant, monolithic paper for which i will contribute a few articles in français. the person in charge is an exuberent and beautiful french girl who has a name similar to a french poet. she doesn't like me much.

me was published, yet again, on the front page of nbti click here i kind of find the site name resentful, but they do a great job there considering their ages. my mag is still the king of the kings in its category though.

mood: i am really fucking tired
in my headphones: marilyn manson ~ like a virgin

2002-11-14T13:38:00.000-08:00
"he who loves his flag more than a human life is nothing more than a social security number - pity him" - eli

i'm getting to be quotable :-D

2002-11-14T12:59:00.000-08:00
what plain pasta on plastic plates tells you about the french

the fucking french. why does everyone think they're trendy? they are not fashionable, they are tasteless bastards, arrogant hapless consumer conformists whose society has been ruefully degraded over the past 10 years by a culture of saturated stupidity imported from the states. the french touch, is to bitch about everything foreign, and not realise that the whole of french society is the biproduct of cocacolanisation.

so i wasn't surprised today when i was handed a plate of plain pasta for my lunch at the school cantine. the italians never eat 'plain pasta', in fact i shouldn't even use those words in the same sentence. 'plain pasta', an oxymoron that explains 99% of what non-elitist france has turned into.

if you're not on top in france, you are part of 'the scum'. you watch mainstream bullshit tv, collapse under the pressure of a school system that hasn't been reformed for 150 years, scorn at other people's fuck-ups but forget your own, get your intelligence from the biggest selling magazine in france (which is a tv programme guide) and completely ignore your cultural heritage. 99.99% of french kids don't read books - considering the french have a fascinating literary heritage from the past 300 years or so, this is unbelievable.

it took, me, an introverted english expat to get the highest grade in french language in my year. and i am not bragging, because that grade is nothing to show off about; yet it is the best among 200 french kids, who have spoken french since they were tiny - i've been speaking it for five years.

the french are going downhill seriously - look what happened in april; they nearly voted a fascist into power.

mood: francophpobia rulz!
in my headphones: the manic street preachers ~ you stole the sun from my heart

2002-11-14T08:52:00.000-08:00
insomnia pays off

me was published! here . I kinda think that article wasn't that great now, but hey, they didn't!

my larger update tonight.

mood: like on crack
In my headphones: the pixies ~ heaven

2002-11-13T11:57:00.000-08:00
lost in the fog
the screaming dog
fell to the floor
of the sea shore

they kept an eye on him
leaving the sun to swim
far into the horizon,
with noone left to spy on

the three seagulls came flying
and the little dog stopped crying
only then he rose smiling
from where he had been lying

and forever he smiled at me
for through the fog, the gulls could see
they ran all the way out to sea
forever free

2002-11-13T05:30:00.000-08:00
where did it all go?

today was one of those fine days where i woke up, went to school, checked my e-mail and forum and came to this conclusion: i am hated

yes i feel really hated. so many things today happened that just piled the shit on. and only yesterday, i at least felt soemwhat liked.

there are three explanations: either a) i have become an arrogant smart-alec bastard, or b) it's in my head, it's circumstantial and incidental bullshit i'm fretting over, or c) a bit of both.

so what pissed me off today? well, this is my longest rant list EVER:

- woke up extremely tired and grumpy
- went into physics, couldnt stay awake/concentrated - have a test tomorrow
- biology, same story
- took two hours to get home
- two fascists in my forum lashed out at me because i think killing people for revenge (or any reason) is not reasonible. i also posted a provocative 'jerry's final thought' post in witch i (rightfully) pointed out that by letting the US government destroy the world in their name, they were being terrrible UN patriotic. then posted provocative retort poem which was a parody on one of the fascist's poems, except i replaced 'the soldier' with 'the 500,000 iraqi children'. the fascists made me feel bad about it soemhow.
- someone emailed me to tell me he was throwing our site of his links section and told us to do the same (no explanation)
- a thirteen year old fascist accused me of breaking the peace by pointing out that her fellow fascist stood againt everything i loved about america, still confused as to why, but feel upset anyway
- no friendly email from friends, they've disappeared
- another seperate person who's blog i read got pissed and deleted the link she had to aeolus and left a message for me telling me to go away to disney (at least, i THINK it was for me)
- i hate this song
- i have a lot of revision to do

ah, now i feel better. i'll probably be fine tonight. i noticed quite a few people are now actually reading my blog ;-) so tonight, stand by for the orginial poem that influenced its name. you can't wait, can yeh?

mood: shovelling the shit out of my way, but it still stinks!
in my headphones: nirvana ~ school (yarrr!!!!!)

2002-11-12T12:46:00.000-08:00
Mama, take this badge off of me...
I can't use it anymore...
It's getting dark, too dark to see...
Feel I'm knocking on heaven's door...
Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door...

Mama put my guns in the ground...
I can't shoot them anymore...
That long black cloud is coming down...
I feel I'm knocking on heaven's door...
Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door...

Baby stay right here with me...
'Cause I can't see you anymore...
This ain't the way it's supposed to be...
I feel I'm knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door...
Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door...

Son won't you remember me?...
I can't be with you anymore...
A lawman's life is never free...
I feel I'm knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door... Knock..knock..knocking on heaven's door...

bob dylan ~ knocking on heavens door

mood: hmm.. ;-)
in my headphones: can you guess?

2002-11-12T10:29:00.000-08:00
now for the twilight zone

today me received my exam results. they were pretty nice ;-D. but i'm still nicely gloomy about what's happening o my mother and my future in general.

i begin to wonder if i'm the selfish one. but what a vague word that is! if you give a gift, you are ultimately doing it because YOU want to see that person happy - how selfish. so if i just want to see my mother healthy, happy and whatnot, fuck you if you think i'm selfish. fuck you too if you think i shouldn't be allowed to go to a decent school, get into a good uni.

insults aside, what else did i do today? well I bemused my economics teacher with smart-alec remarks about fascism and whatnot (teacher, whats the difference between gassing jews and cutting algerian nobs off?) and so on. lunch was vile kernel, especially vile today. then i made mistake, see I was only being 'nice' to a girl in my class, i wasnt at all interested in the lousy bint. nuff said? nuff said.

should i get deep? i should. what is my problem with the fairer sex? honestly, i'm scared of them. they're WEIRD, judgmental - conniving... it's strange. i love to play around with my female friends, but i often wonder if i'll ever, well you know.

i cant think of anything intelligent to say today, actually

mood: quasidepressed
in my headphones: bob dylan ~ knocking on heavens door

2002-11-11T12:21:00.000-08:00
i've been messing around with the blog template for quite a while now - i've made soem progress but still can't get the archive and entenation things to work

i got very little sleep last night, so sweet dreams to me

mood: tired and pleasently puzzled at the world
in my headphones: beck ~ already dead

2002-11-11T10:50:00.000-08:00
mildly funny

2002-11-11T00:36:00.000-08:00
i didn't get to sleep UNTIL 5AM

i guess my head was spinning, plus I hadn't been outside all weekend and a mosquito with the most terrible sting flew around my room for four hours

i feel exhausted - some bastards are tearing our roof a part, its making too much noise, too much

mood: hihi! yawn
in my headphones: the cranberies ~ analyse

2002-11-10T15:55:00.000-08:00
Where to begin...

i decided to start this blog to understand myself and help others understand themselves. i'm pretty marveled at the wonders of life, and the complications of the human mind. i'm pretty much in love with mine, but it's quite a tangeled mess. my emotions fly to different places very quickly, and i'd like to know more about these phenomena and others.

if i had to describe who i am in a nutshell, i would say that i'm 16, im male, i have lived in the south of france since the age of 11. i do whatever i do with passion, i have emotions, i hate, i love, in brief i'm a human being. i fall in and out of love very easily, with girls, with ideas, with objects and so on.

what i want to prove with this blog, if anything, is that a sixteen year old male specimen of our dishnorable species can and does play with emotions. i'd describe myself as reactive but not responsive. this blog will be a way of being responsive.

i have several important people in my daily routine. i'll introduce them as i blog along, starting tomorrow

i want to go with the century, which is one where words connote what you decide. poetry is empty, art is conceptual bullshit - things are how you interprate them. how you inteprate this blog is not my concern, since it could influence how i write it.

mood: like the last ten minutes of 2001 Space Odyssey
in my headphones: bob dylan ~ buckets of rain

2002-11-10T07:18:00.000-08:00
cough