I hate people, right. I hate parts of people anyway. I would be hard-pressed to find anyone I actually hate all the way through. I was in a music class the other day, and this dude who sits like three seats to the left was totally bs’ing the instructor, even though he was texting openly, right in front of her in the first row. He was joking with her and otherwise trying to play “oh look at me I am a funny guy” shit. I don’t know what I hate more, the dude for pulling that shit or the instructor for putting up with it. I was very annoyed by it, but I know that it’s just the same sort of thing I do myself to some people. I hate it anyway, though, cause I hate it when I do it, and I hate it when it works. But hate is not all I do. I like a great many things. I was writing the last couple of things I wrote, and I thought “gee, I am a downer” and I decided I should try and finish with something that didn’t make me sound like such a sorry sack of shit.
Things that make me happy in no real order and not really complete
Mern makes me happy. She is so cool. When I die and become one with the great spirit and then decide what I want to come back to earth as so that I can continue my education for the next world (it’s a complicated theology my grandmother has) I would totally pick her so I can learn how to be cool. She is like the icy half of that Icyhot stuff. She is like chewing ice and wintergreen gum while jumping out of an airplane with a snowboard to go down K2. In boxers.
Gavin and Emily make me happy. They’re such a cute couple and such cool people individually. I love seeing other people happy like that.
Music makes me happy. Everything about music. I love playing it, I love listening to it, I love pretending I can dance. If I weren’t so awful and hadn’t started so late, I would love to be a musician for the rest of my life.
Protesters make me happy. Anyone who gets angry, goes outside and masses together to wave signs and yell is damn cool in my book. People who do protests like this make me even happier. I love people with their heads on straight. Even if they have some kooky mysticism behind their movement. I would be the Judas from Jesus Christ Superstar, supporting the movement because it helps people, not because it becomes centered on a single ego, like Jesus. Anyway you should watch the movie, it’s really good.
Dnd makes me happy. I like playing pretend, and it’s even more fun playing pretend when I play pretend with other people. I get kind of grouchy about it sometimes because it turns into not being about playing pretend as much as rolling dice or arguing, but on the whole I enjoy it.
Ms. Keturi makes me happy, though I am less clear on why. If I had to say, I would say something dumb like “because she is so real.” It’s just, I met her and man if nothing else she is someone I feel like I can trust with anything forever. Also she is six kinds of hot.
I like walking. It makes me happy just to wander around and listen to music and look at people who walk past me. I like that. I like wearing a warm coat on a cold night and listening to some horrible techno bullshit and staring at the stars. I like the stars too.
Space exploration makes me happy. I want to be in space. Earth is so dull. I want to be alone in a entirely silent vessel hurtling towards nowhere at the speed of sound. I want to die majestically when a star goes nova and rips apart my very flesh at the molecular level.
Shopping for stupid shit online makes me happy. It’s also bankrupting me, so I really need to stop, but when I find a website that sells brothel tokens for three bucks each, I just have to buy a bunch. Same with these stupid glasses. And that dumb hat. Chris was right when he said when I’m old the front of my house is going to be a museum of curios collected over the years.
Grant makes me happy. He’s such a cool dude. I still think he’s going to burn out in drug fueled blaze of glory, but that will be pretty awesome too.
Comics make me happy. I've been reading them forever. Not the convoluted and confusing comic books, but the short and snappy comic strips from the newspaper. Squeezing a message into a few boxes and some words always seemed like the best way to go. I still read comics, though now they are on the web and have transcended the limitations of print in both censorship and format. It's pretty great. Here's some classic peanuts, back when it was new and exciting.
Sleeping makes me happy. I over-indulge in sleep whenever I can. It's just what I do. It's an awful habit, but damn do I enjoy the fuck out of my dreams more than I enjoy being awake.
I started out writing these as a response to two different questions, “who are you to tell them that?” and “what the hell?” which were asked by two different people in two different contexts, which got me to thinking, which got me to writing, etc. Thanks for reading all of them, or skipping to the last one cause you’re a jerk. Jerk.
I’m trying to express myself, I guess. It’s hard because I am not a cat. If I were a cat I would just pee all over everything. Instead I am a person, and because I am a busy person I do not have the time to go around and yell statements about myself at the top of my lungs to no one at all. Writing at least offers some form of permanency of self. There is a person in these essays. He’s there. He isn’t me, but I made him and he reflects how I think right now. Does that make sense? It’s philosophical nonsense, I guess, but useful philosophical nonsense. This, I suppose, is how I handle journal-writing. By squeezing my massive and malformed ego into chunks of poorly chosen words with only a loose connection to their author.
In the long run, the question I am asking myself and asking you is, “is that true?”
Truth is all I really want to write, all I feel is worth writing.
last song= http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qybUFnY7Y8w
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