I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it’s not that big of a deal. I promise I’ll fix it, I swear. It’s just a button any way. All I need to do is find some white string, I only have black. I have needles though, more than I need actually. I’ll fix it soon, when I get a chance.
It’s cold in my room, I've had the window closed for 24 hours now and it’s still cold. Maybe because the window does not seal totally. But it gets hot sometimes. Because it’s only me, because I’m alone it stays cold. No warmth. I’m always cold. Maybe it’s because estrogen lowers women’s body temperatures. Or maybe because I don’t exercise. No circulation. My feet are always cold, never really warm when they are outside shoes. I’m just a cold person. I need warmth but I can’t take the heat. I guess I like the cold, it’s familiar and usual.
I've been in this room for such a long time, I only left in the past 8 hours to get paper, give a cd back and see if the TV was available. I never gave the cd back and they didn’t have paper. The TV was taken. When I’m here I stay in my room for such a long time. When I’m down south I am never home. I’m always with my friends or reading at the mall, I have my car. My car is my escape. Freedom. When I am up here I cannot leave school. Who would ever think of dorms? Being unable to leave the school premises. Heh, and I though high school was prison. At least I could go home. Now my home is school. I’m just making my way to become an efficient cog in the American dream. I want to leave, see if there are places better than this. There must be.
My first thought stream was one paragraph. But I figured I would help you readers out and every time I change the topic I’ll make a new paragraph. Ok? Good. Should I pretend a lot of people are reading this? Or should I just have it for me. But why do I need to read my thoughts? Will it make me understand my self? When I read my last one I liked it, a lot. But I think this type of thing is only good for me. So maybe no one should read this. Is this a diary or something like it? Well... a diary would have me explain what I did today and such. I did kind of do that {see above paragraphs} but no, this is not a diary. Diaries pretend that they do not want to be read, that’s why there are locks on them usually. But if you write it down then you want it to be read, by someone. I sure as hell do.
I read warren Ellis’s book available light and it’s amazing. On one side of the page is a picture and the other is a story about the picture or something to that extent. He is such a good writer, and it’s amazing that if I want to talk to him I can. I wish he would write a real novel, not a graphic one. But it’s his preference so it doesn’t really matter.
Why do I like Nine Inch Nails so much? Because it reminds me of Erik. Because it evokes emotion and so rarely do I feel emotion. Because it’s beautiful. Because he’s sexi. Because if I don’t focus on him who would I focus on? Most people pass NIN off as teenage angst and such but I see it as so much more than that. His lyrics are part of a bigger picture. A whole album is a story. The music that accompanies his voice is wonderfully crafted and laid out, it has meanings as well. NIN is something that I have cried to more than any other music. I listen to it when I’m depressed. It has a purpose to me. It is a part of my life.
I’m white, very white. English and Scottish and so many other things. I’m a mutt with freckles on my knees. And on my nose, and on my elbows, and on my shoulders, and on my wrists. Being white makes me feel separated from all other colors, but that’s not an unusual thing. Because I’m a mutt I feel I have no ties to my family history. If I was only Scottish I would feel a tie to being... well an alcoholic? I don’t know what it’s like to be Scottish really. Not really English either, I have no English accent and neither do my parents. I don’t normally say “bollocks” or “bloody” in my sentences. I feel like I’m most English though, because people in Brittan are mutts too. But not as much as in America. Americans have the identity of having no identity if you know what I mean. The “salad bowl” or “soup”, whatever. The identity of no identity. Interesting isn’t it?
If I was famous or had lots of friends on the internet; people would read my blog, not just my ex boy friend. What would happen if I promoted my site? If I told people about it that I know in real life? Would they read it and see me in a different light? When I see them after they read it would they look down upon me or would they appreciate what I’m doing? Opening my thoughts, letting others into my head. They would probably not react. They would pretend they never read any thing about me and it would never be mentioned. Or maybe, if I keep on doing this for a long time and then get a job and my own domain name and move all of these thoughts onto there people would start to come and read. And people would talk about how they feel on the subject matters I think about. Maybe it would become a hit and everyone would love me. Hah!
The changing of the cds’ always a nice break for me to sit in a more comfortable position and to start a new paragraph. A breather for you and me. I can never seem to find a comfortable position, when I’m sleeping or sitting at the computer or standing. I must keep on moving always. Which relates to how I feel; I need to move every few years. When I become accustomed to a certain place I feel I need to leave. But now that I've left I want to go back. And when I’m there I want to leave again. It’s pretty bad. When I first came up here I was so happy, all my stress that had weighed on me for 3 years straight became no more and I was really happy. My skin cleared up and I felt content until I got into another bad relationship up here and that stressed me out too. But that weight has never totally been put back on. I just needed a break from my family and friends. Eventually it will come back and I’ll have to move again.
I just talked to my friend brad on AIM about the party last night. It was amazing not giving a shit about any one. Because of the shrooms I could see though people. It was pretty enlightening. For instance when this girl P talked to me I fully understood why she wanted someone to hear her, to listen and not ignore her. She needed to be heard. Now that I think about it I should not have looked down upon her for it but felt sympathy. But like I said before I didn’t give a damn about anyone. I also thought in different ways, but that is a lot harder to explain and it was right before I went to sleep. I was afraid though, I was afraid I would never be normal again. Shrooms are amazing but I know that was not the only thing affecting me that night. The mix of shrooms and alcohol and lots of pot gave me an intense insanity I've never felt before. When I was going to sleep I only had my red light on in my room and my mirror is right across from my bed and I stared at my self for a few minuets straight watching the room move around me, feeling like I was changing the physical world with my eyes. It was a truly amazing experience.
America is fucked, and that’s that. It was always fucked; it started because the rich wanted to get richer and used the poor to do that. There is no such thing as freedom, only security. If we lived in freedom there would be chaos. The government was made to take away freedom. But the few things that we are allowed to do in this country are being taken away slowly yet surely. We want it to stay the same. We don’t want it to become more secure than it is. If that happens than we will live in a police state. And yes, there are better places to live than America, and worse. But we’re not the best and you fucking morons better get that though your thick skulls. Damnit.
I’m tired. Tired in the sense that my body wants to sleep since it’s almost 2 am. I’m also tired in the sense of life, I have no straight line to where I’m going, no long term goals, the longest goal I have is to get to a 4 year college in the next few years. I’ve been in college since I was a junior in high school. I graduated in 2002. So technically I’ve been in college for a year and a half, but I dropped out after I got out of high school so technically I guess a year only. I feel like I’ve been in it for so long. I feel so much older than everyone; I have more experience than these straight-out-of-high school kids. But I am really not that old or experienced. Life is strange and you never know who to trust or which opinions are truly correct. I may already be dead or maybe my life is one long dream. It’s too confusing to even think about.
I hope someday someone famous or brilliant, someone I admire reads these.