this screenshot basically sums it all up

i tried my best to leave this all on your machine

Okay, so I thought I'd let another night slip by without a blog entry, that I'd just peruse my usual porn sites, get a little giddy about the camping trip, and go to bed.

But I just stumbled across one of the most amusing stacks of notebook paper that I've seen in a long time.

Apparently, when I was still in high school, I declared a Random Haiku Day. I wrote some, and others wrote some. Highlights include:

old poet
gets kicks hanging around ponds
...inner meaning...

I know of maybe two people in the entire world who could tell me the name of the poet I'm making fun of. (I did so because of the two weeks spent breaking down one single haiku.) One person was there throughout the whole thing. The other is thom.

jesus fucking ape shit
just stop testing the intercom
we know you're there.

cat pounces
fly makes narrow escape
blinds torn.

time glides as molasses
the clocks don't tick here
they oooozzze

That one was one of my personal favorites. Judging from the handwriting, it seems like one of my own.

i think that i like breasts
i don't know why i'm writing in french
mmm... breasts

smoke rises
devastation throughout
another cigarette dead

Come to think of it, a lot of these have a distinct "me" ring to them. This one, however, was not mine:

badgers bite your head.
people watch you fall down, hurt.
badgers worldwide win.

Bob Hunsicker, wherever you are, you're my hero.

I also found some stuff from my angsty drawing phase... most of it, now that I look at it, is pretty morbid. My favorite features a girlfriend (turned close friend, later) with whom I'd had a nasty falling-out at the time. It's really insane, thinking about how much bitterness I was trying to squeeze out in one picture.

However, with all that said and done, I am so damn excited about this camping trip. A bunch of us got together tonight to plan the specifics, and with each passing day it feels like more and more pieces are falling into place.

Speaking of falling into place, I went to a party with Francis on Friday night, and I distinctly remember falling into a bed. I woke up in a walk-in closet. My memories of the time between those two events are dizzy, hazy, and they return a 404 when I try to recall details. (GOD I am a dork.)

Needless to say, Saturday hurt. Ooh, and it looks like Francis is going to be able to come camping too. Qu'est excitant.

Thankfully, the weekend of headaches and shafted sleep schedules is over. Now, back to my regularly scheduled insomnia.

(DB) out.

feeling like i like feeling, or fun with palindromes

I love Zero7.

So earlier this morning (well, yesterday) my brother came home. Actually, probably about 24 hours ago on the dot. He was plastered, put a pizza in the oven, then forgot about it and passed out. Fortunately my dad got up a half hour later, and noticed the pizza before it caught fire.

Tonight, my brother called and said he got a flat tire up in Loch Raven, and misplaced his housekeys, and told me to unlock the house. Fun, because I was at Shelly's, and then had to take Francis back to Abingdon. There really wasn't any vacancy in my schedule to go let drunky mcdrunkerson in. Fortunately he did find his keys; I walked in, to find him hunched over a bowl of stew on the couch, drooling on himself.

I thought his visit/return would be frustrating. I thought I'd be reminded of all the wicked things I usually think about him in his absense. But rather than being frustrating, his return is serving more as pure, unadulterated entertainment. If he can manage to curb that nasty habit of setting our house up to burn down, then I say he should stay for a while. It's really like Christmas. Every stupid little thing he does is like opening up a new DVD. I'm waiting with bated breath for the DVD player to be unwrapped.

But yeah, I saw Francis again, which I enjoyed, like last time. The question was posed as to whether or not we're "officially dating," and the answer was, "we're seeing where things were going."

A cookie for the person who can correctly tell who said what.

Ooh, and thus the fun with "like" and "feel" begins.

While I do have an aversion to "official" anything, I do like where things are going. I like how things haven't been rushed. I like feeling like they're not going to. Innocence and wonder are attractive and beautiful things. I feel like my sense of wonder could use some company, maybe a little rejuvenation. I feel like even though my innocence scabbed itself over with cynicism long ago, and even though I protect myself via deliberate detachment from what I perceive to be others' opinions of me, none of that really matters... I like the stirring of warmth underneath my weathered, cold, day-to-day psyche.

(i desperately wanted to use "tabula rasa" up there, but i couldn't in good conscience put it in there in a way that wouldn't flow, so just let that be known)

I like feeling new.

(DB) out.

musical experiment

Right this very moment, I'm wondering if I can type a blog entry whilst listening to the Scissor Sisters. Either I'll start getting funktastic, or switch to my Tao playlist because it's much more mellow.

Do I even need mellow?

Tonight, I was an inwardly cranky bitch. I just felt bad. If I wanted to, I could count the reasons why on one hand. But in my head, none of it's really all that simple, and avalanches are the result of one snowflake too many.

I should probably clean my room, but it's nowhere on my list of real priorities. (A list that probably needs some reevaluation anyway.) Fitting that a cluttered head should keep its environs in kind. I kinda feel like I want ravioli, too, but I think we're out of it...

My next day off is next Tuesday. My first instinct was to complain about it, and I know by Tuesday I'll probably be a ball of nerves, but at least I'll feel more useful than I did over my last impromptu hiatus. Le giggity. That and I've got another hiatus coming up in three weeks anyway, followed by a rash of days I'll be off for some reason or another. Highlights include: bridal shower, camping trip, birthday, and a prom. Yes, you read correctly. Con Francis. Am I retarded for agreeing to something so relatively soon? Probably. But, what's the point in living if you don't act on random feelings every now and then, and see where you end up?

I'll have to pull together a tux and such... or do what I tried to do last time and raid the JCPenney men's clearance section. Hey, for the same amount of money, if I can summon a fashionable ensemble together and keep it, why not? I still have my pimp cane from my prom. I definitely plan on it making an appearance.

I really don't know if I can keep up with the Scissor Sisters at this time of night, and/or in this mood. And this is sad, but I've refrained from picking something else because I don't know... fuck it, I'll just revisit Incubus' "Make Yourself." It's been quite some time since I listened to that all the way through, or at least in any sort of consecutive track order.

My legs hurt, but I can't find any other sitting arrangement that's more comfortable. I feel like I want to sleep, make ravioli, hibernate.. who knows. Whilst on the phone earlier, I said that I occasionally delude myself into thinking this will be my last winter spent in Baltimore. I feel like I'm full of crap, because there's almost no way I could pull off a move to a warmer clime, but I can dream, right?

I miss my guitar. But it's out in my car, and I really don't feel like braving the cold to go get it. I'd pick it up, play for five minutes, become overtaken with a wave of uninspiration, and go back to thinking about eating or sleeping, or being in Phoenix. Perhaps it's that self-defeating train of thought that causes the uninspiration to begin with, and it's just a self-perpetuating cycle.

Thus, in order to create something, I have to feel like I can. It should be simple, right?

I love how things in life, more often than not, are perfectly capable of being their own antitheses.

Why am I even writing here? I only know of two readers. If I had ravioli, it'd be ravioli time. But I think I'm going to go make do with something else.

(DB) out.

guerilla entry

so, my objective for right now is to type the most pithy entry possible in the shortest amount of time. It's kinda ridiculous that I've been off work for five days and haven't blogged once.

I finally got a new phone. The Verizon flavor of the razr that doesn't crash and has a decent camera. St. Patty's Day was extremely anticlimactic, but I hadn't seen Tabby or Val in a while, so it was all right in the end. I met a guy named Francis (I know, from Myspace, shoot me) and we had a really awesome and random first date. I went to see Motion City Soundtrack and The Format with Bec, and their wonderfulness waxed and waxed, until ultimately we ended up getting autographs from two of the guys from the Format, and went home satisfied. Today was a random porn day.

I think that's about as close I can get to a short summary of my time off.

Oh, and my brother's home, and I haven't felt compelled to kill him yet.

I'm also completely broke.

(DB) out.

i'm told i should blog more

and so I will, at least while I'm thinking about it.

Let it be noted that I've tried to type this post repeatedly. It has succumbed to distractions, browser crashes, and general inattention on my part. But hell, I was doing my taxes. And let me just say, we're all just lucky that I haven't decided to shoot myself in the face. Which wouldn't be unreasonable, considering the abysmal refund I'm (hah) entitled to, in combination with my financial woes of late.

Maybe I should stop building servers out of ancient parts for my own gratification, and take up prostitution. Or pyramid-scheme marketing.

...or shoot myself in the face.

I am a tire, and the circumstances of my life are fallen, wet leaves. Thus, as per normal, I haven't got too many exciting things to write about. Aside from the amazing weekend I had - it wasn't amazing for any reason other than the weather - nothing's been going on. I definitely want the fantastic warm weather to come back and stay that way. Either that or I want to move to Phoenix.

Although knowing my ass, I'd get tired of the insane perpetual heat and want to come back. It can be funny, wondering how things would be different there, though ultimately coming to the conclusion that the way I get along with the world in general would remain largely unchanged. I'd still have too many bills, not enough money, a nearly nonexistent sense of purpose... the list goes on. But, at least styling my hair would be easier, as humidity in Phoenix is about as extant as my sense of purpose.

In some random fluke of scheduling, after tomorrow (well, today, Wednesday, wtf ever) I have five days off in a row. I didn't ask for them, nor am I entirely happy about them. Yeah, it's awesome having a lot of time off to do whatever I want, but when I don't have unlimited (or any) amounts of money to spend, five days without any structure is probably going to kill me. I'm sick of it being too cold to go and enjoy the low-cost option of spending time outside.

You'd think by now I'd learn that I can't control the weather. But, if I could, I'd definitely find something else to bother me when I was feeling restless and slightly cranky, so there's really no point. Speaking of restless and cranky, my brother's coming home Friday, for his spring break. And my five-day hiatus from work is going to partially coincide with that.

I think March 15th is going to be "Say 'Shoot Myself in the Face' Day."

The only plus side to my brother's return is going to be getting my new cell phone. I dunno... my thoughts on him are... unpleasant.

I've talked with my mom about this at great lengths, and also with friends who may or may not fully understand the scope of my feelings. When I came out, all of a sudden, he started treating me like I didn't exist. (I know, sometimes I wonder whether or not I do, but that's my call, and no one else's.) And it hasn't really stopped. He only contacts me for tech support on his godforsaken Dell. And he stole my Ethernet cable. Worse, though, about that, is that he doesn't even know what an Ethernet cable is.

According to my parents, he occasionally asks about me, how I'm doing and such. We never really talk. We never really have, come to think of it. The fact that we had a generally unsubstantial relationship to begin with somewhat bothered me, but two years ago, it was better than it ever had been before. But all of a sudden, I come out, and I become the gay brother he avoids like the plague, unless he needs something. When he was here the last time, his very presence grated on my nerves. I guess it's frustrating, not knowing how he feels and only being able to rely on observations of his behavior. It's more frustrating knowing what those observations imply.

I hate the thought that my own brother personifies a good bit of what I hate about American society in general. I hate the thought that he could probably say the same about me. I hate the fact that being who I am automatically places me beneath fresh, sun-drenched dog shit on his scale of esteem for others.

When I was younger, and at Carver, my teacher was once sharing an anecdote about a student she once had, who was under some extreme duress, who could only express himself through profanity when asked about one particular thing/person/noun. She never fully went into particulars, I assume the student still went to Carver at the time...

I hate the fact that when asked about my brother, I'm reduced to that point of intense profanity, and bitter loathing. It's obviously a defense mechanism. I know he dislikes me, so somewhere in my head, I'll automatically do one better. I won't just dislike him. I'll stop just short of completely and totally hating him.

Seriously. Even as I'm typing this, the adrenaline's rushing, and I find my lip curling.

I hate the fact that the very thought of him breaks down all the walls and filters I try to maintain between rationality and emotion, and just go for the damned jugular. I like to think I've got a good grip on what goes on inside my head most of the time, and as we all know, I don't take very well to being told I'm wrong.

I'd better get to sleep before I find myself unable.

(DB) out.

the word of the day is "ruminate." WARNING: this post contains poetry

The blogger widget crashed my computer, and made it look like my last entry didn't post. But it looks like it did.

Before getting to today, and the poetry, I feel like I should backtrack a little.

Last night, I met a boy. Which isn't entirely unusual for me. What was unusual, however, is how our interactions unfolded. I went in with a perceived lack of chemistry hovering in the back of my mind, but remembered that expectations are, 99% of the time, precursors to disappointment. So I let things flow, and flow they did. Here's where the unusual begins: One minute, the TV's on, he's making a ton of phone calls, moving about a mile a minute, and I'm wondering how long it'll be before I start to take exception to it all. But, after a little while, we're sitting, listening to music, and talking. We talked for hours about everything and nothing. I was in awe that a connection was forming with such a relative stranger. All in all, it was nice. Nicer though that things didn't take that all-too-familiar turn to the purely physical.

While the compatibility of our lifestyles seems a little up in the air, I'm going to see him again. Nobody ever knows exactly what's going to happen to them, so why worry about details prematurely?

Tonight, I went to Denny's with Jinah. Just Jinah. It was unusual, as normally we're out in a whole huge crowd. After sitting and ruminating for a good bit of time, we both left feeling peaceful. It was nice, in a subtle sort of way.

Let it be noted that after my coffee binge last week, I seem to have developed a taste for it. As if smoking and constantly drinking soda weren't enough reasons to start carrying mints around.

When I got home I was in a tea and poetry mood, in keeping with the whole peaceful business. And now, for your reading pleasure, an ode to greasy-spoon diners.

low-rent, high class
or somewhere decidedly in between
that's where life is.
coffee, cigarette smoke, cooking oil
obscure differences normally
decided by thickness of wallet.

cacophony- is this the sound
of the space between your ears
or everyone talking at once-
or both?
loud answers to questions
you never knew you had
and loud questions
you might never want answered.
something will be brought to the table.
take it, leave it,
order something, put something out there-
or both.

this is where the philosophy happens, and
these are the philosophers.
dressed too nicely, or
sporting a misguided haircut
despite appearances everyone blends together.

history forgets most of the "comfortable"
grad students with all the answers,
and remembers most of the
"tortured" bums with all the questions, if sufficiently loud-mouthed.

there's no filet mignon here,
nor could most afford it if there were.
regardless of our lives,
this is where living happens.

Print that, find the nearest 24-hour diner, get there somehow, and do some ruminating of your own. (Not that anyone I know has ever had a problem finding a diner.)

(DB) out.