I'm unconsoled, I'm lonely, I am so much better than I used to be.

Hello blog.

Its been some time, really. I haven't really needed you, or wanted you but that's the nice thing about blogs (and friends, I suppose) that they're there when you want them, and now early in the morning after sleeping for 3 hours (I couldn't sleep much for once, no clue why) I am blogging. Maybe I'll do it more, or maybe I won't, we'll see.

Live has been extremely busy, especially for someone who claims to have a laid back life style, who's barely worked a day in his life, and for someone who cares far too little about responsibility, or being adult, or anything like that. Starcraft 2 is out, and after committing what seems like the better part of my life locked up in a cold basement playing a 2d strategy game I am now spending the 2nd half of the better part of my life locked up in my apartment playing a 3d strategy game and making a fair bit of money doing so. Sure I made money the first time around, but nothing like I'll be raking in now. I can't decide if its worth it though, its almost depressing as I pass in skill player after player pushing the limits of this game already. I got to rank 2 in a week. What the hell?

Nothing much has changed about me dear. I still sleep like a rock for 10 hours or more if left alone, I rarely do things I'm supposed to do or that I'm responsible to do, I'm a flake and care more about my 'job' and gaming than I do other people, and I still feel guilty for not being in school. Really, nothing much has changed, except that I'm happy. I feel like that has to account for something in the world. You know, I try to keep the apartment clean, I take care of Butters and see Sarah from time to time. She says she loves me.

Resentment for what you've done in the past, or things you could have been or done is deeply the most troubling thing I've ever experienced really, and now that I'm past it and able to act with a certain clarity I don't feel I've had since high school. I realize that I may not be the best boyfriend right now, and Starcraft 2 seems like a silly thing to commit my time to, and maybe I'm just a boy and that girl will never be right for me. Those with college educations and real jobs just levels above me, I really can't say right now. I haven't written a poem in months.

It all seems to be a complicated dream of dignity. A place where awkward belongs. =)

---

Her fingers dragged on the seams
of my slim jeans, a network of
tiny gaps and grids. A maze
for germs, or a place to
stare blankly at an endlessly
repeating pattern.

The four was never a hybrid
bus, it was decrepit; the ghetto
lined with the humiliation of age,
guzzling gasoline on the poorly paved
tar streets of Madison. It still had
that electric robot voice though,

"Oak, at East Washington."

The bus was a real gentlemen. She
had paid for dinner again and
I had slept through our plans.
My excitement dwindled, I could
do very little about the persistent
tapping of my chucks against the
plastic flooring of the bus.

She wrapped her arms around my
ribcage. I always missed that feeling
the most.

A Fearless Inventory

A Fearless Inventory

Laying on top of her back
it was in moments like these
that I am terrified. Those sharp
beating steps of my heart thumping
at her shoulder blade. My lips
are a softer flesh, like any flesh
demanding friction.

I am terrified of telling
someone over the phone that
I will not come and see you because
it is not convenient for me, and no
matter how much I tell you I still
like you I can't bring myself to
walk a third of a mile to make you smile.

I will decline to explain to my roommate
or to anyone else that the sickness that
was given to me is terrifying, or that
it rots me from the inside like termites
and eventually I will be nothing if I
cannot control myself.

I am terrified that "She" will fail,
that no one cares about she, or her,
and although I never say the names
of you in my work, you will be lost
forever in encrypted layers of data
attached to a five year old computer.

If my memory and knowledge are my
most important things, then I am
terrified of losing them. A sickness,
this Alzheimer's or dementia, I am
losing my mind considering it.

Am I just a lightning rod, or am I still breathing?

Hi blog.

Life has been oh so fun lately! And by oh so fun, I pretty much feel like killing myself right in this current moment. But what could be afflicting me so? You, reader, will never know.

The last few days have gone by pretty quickly. I don't make many plans for the coming week as my magical cards schedule is quite devoid of much activity at all. Either way, yesterday was Madison's birthday so we went out to TGI fridays. Madison is 21 so he had a lot too much to drink. I enjoyed my mediocre burger of sorts while mostly shooting the shit with Nicole and Madison the whole time.

The day prior involved going over to Sarah's to watch a couple movies of the Starwars trilogy, drink beer, and hang out with her immobile roommate Chris, who broke his leg. It was really entertaining rewatching Starwars (hadn't seen them in some time) and then we basically slept and spent the entire next day in bed, which was pretty awesome.

Gotta pay rent tomorrow, have to do the dishes. Sarah and I have plans on Tuesday which is fun.

An astronaut could have seen the hunger in my eyes from space.

It is 4am! I'm going to catch a bus in two hours to go home and sleep. Sleep, what an...alluring word right now. But really, how has life been John?

Friday night Collin ended up staying over and we made the most of it by drinking soda (sigh) and playing HoN. We did some arbitrary talking about our personal lives and talk of oatmeal cream pies. What?

Ultimately I went to bed at 3am, and slept till about 11am when I woke up and ate a bunch of leftover pancakes Collin had from when he went out to breakfast with his mother while I sleeping. I wrote a couple poems I had drempt up and prompty began jamming more video games with Collin. At some point on facebook I noticed that Jaz had a status about a pons concern so I inquired with the details. Collin was excited at the prospect of going, naturally as both of us are huge fans (hes never seen them live however). At some point Sarah Skype'd me and complained a bit about her sickness while I bragged about this sweet concert I was going to. It ultimately convinced her and around 9pm Collin and I met her there. The pon's opening band, Buttfunnel was terribad. We drank beer and sat around waiting for the pons to start. The show was very enjoyable, and I really want them to release a new album with all the songs I don't have on it officially. Mostly because I want to listen to songs about Cat ladies and creepy women who have many year long lusting after guys she had a one night stand with. Yes, I want this.

Afterwards I went back to Sarah's place and spent the night, which was fun, as expected. We spent like five hours talking about some enormous caste of topics. I woke up fully around 11:30 am before taking the bus home. Madison, after calling me to tell me how he wanted to hang out flaked and did something else with some of his friends from highschool who I don't know particularly well, so I ended up finishing up this week's article and going over to Collins to eat dinner and chill. Fun weekend. I plan on going to MATC tomorrow too to see if its possible to sneak into at least one class for the semester, even if its already started late. Being bored is the worst. OH, and I could stand to find a 2nd job, mostly because I have so much freetime.

-John

If we're not horses, what are we then?

It is friday at 5:40pm, my date flaked out on me, Madison and George are both out at friend's houses, and I am working on my manuscript while periodically forum'ing and reading V. by Thomas Pynchon. Whoo?

Here is some poetry.

Father is a man who
stood at the foot of my bed,
shouting as I stared at the
floor sitting cross legged.

Her father was different,
yet in a sense the same
as the dozens of hands
inserted needles, placed
a respirator over his mouth,
or clasped together to pray.

The hospital roof made for
a better waiting room. I was
only waiting to hear he was
dead.

She cried later that night, but
I couldn't. I didn't cry for
my father either.

--

She pushed her
ear to my ribcage. Dear
boy's bones, those sickly
protectors of my lungs
couldn't protect me.