mais oui oui oui!

okay i'm back to my "blog-when-procrastinating" thing. shite this essay is tomorrow and i am probably going to have to pull an all-niter cramming every bit of information in my head.

since i have nothing interesting to say today, here is an excerpt from a diary entry from about three months ago, at the beginning of the summer.

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JULY 7, 2007
12:25PM

god is nowhere / god is now here

I just checked my calendar for the date and it was still at June. I am not keeping track of the days that slide by me like slithering snakes through the grass. Like grains of hot golden sand through the cracks of my fists. Like combing smooth hair. It all goes right through. Too smoothly. I wish for a knot, maybe I will savour time better that way, but I don't want to be caught up in a knot, really. What could happen?

Woke up about 10 minutes ago and I have a droning cynical narrative going through my head. My life as a fight club movie. It is Edward Norton's voice, half-awake, half-asleep, suffering from insomnia. He says, "in the Tibetan philosophy, Sylvia Plath sense of the word, we're all gonna die, right? But you're not dying in the sense Chloe is dying." His droning voice like a neverending sentence. There are frequent voice-overs in my head such as this, and now I'm thinking, why am i thinking about Death? Is this some Freudian thing? Or maybe because I watched City of God last nite and now all that's on my mind is blood gore and the woes of the violent minded, poverty stricken people.

What was I talking about? With that last sentence I can see Edward Norton's puzzled face like when he senses something is fishy. This is funny, Fight Club is fucking around with my head, but it is also funny as in ha-ha. Brad Pitt punching into a red leather punching bag and his blond hair is sweaty and his face is as red and leathery as the punching bag itself. He has gloves on, but I just removed them in my mind. He has on a sleeveless shirt. Corduroy pants maybe. Where is Edward? My mind is so strange.

I need to get hold of things. What shall I do today? It is mighty depressing to wake up at 12:30pm, late noon, all the windows are open, half-eaten food on the table, but no one here. So so so so depressing, I could go clinically insane if I kept thinking. I should make breakfast or at least eat that shitty pasta in the pan, at least six hours old. Hmm. I want to eat toast with eggs and nutella.

On Jimmy Kimmel last night there were highlight clips of Maury in which a woman was so so so incredibly afraid of cotton balls. She would go crazy with fear if cotton balls were near her, of if they were on her body (God forbid!). Her biggest nightmare was that a man made out of cotton balls would chase her and try to kill her (of course, Maury had a producer glue cotton balls all over himself and chase the crazy woman). Maury is so goddamn amusing. I have no faith left when I watch it sometimes.

Had a weird dream. PW suddenly included elementary school, and had a new attached building, with babylike posters and pictures and calm teachers for the toddlers. Kindergartens roamed around the school. I was trying to find something, make graffiti, all the seniors were, it was bizarre. The school (which suspiciously looked like Glen on the inside) was as quiet and soft-spoken as a maternity ward of a hospital. Word. Then I open one door and *SCHWING* I'm in the middle of a camp with a thousand kids, all grade twelves, around a great big cabin. Music plays loud. Late evening.

A kid who looks like Liam W (but CANNOT possibly be... why on earth would I dream about him?) says come on, let's dance, and I say ahhhhhkayyy. He grabs a Heineken and he gets me one too. Sweet, I thought in the dream. I take swigs from the green bottle and enter the cabin. I see Zach and Roxy and ... I turn around and I'm talking to these "uncool" asian kids (hah) about Thurston Moore? Wow so weird. I actually feel intoxicated recalling the dream. WOW. So so so so so whack. God. It's already 5 to 1. I should make some breakfast, yes?

Maybe I'll read the Ayn Rand today, but I'm thinking maybe I should prioritize the things I have to do. What is the most important thing to do?!?!?!?!?! I wish I had a lover. This lover is faceless because I have no idea at all of how he should look like or what his personality would be like. Dear God.

PS. I wonder how many % of our average lifetime goes into waiting in front of the computer, waiting for an Internet site to load.


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