nauseous

what will i become if i continue to treat people the way i do now? isn't that strange to read aloud? it sounds bad. i didn't mean it in a bad way though. i was just asking.

i feel frightened of being judged by those who will read this. in fact, i don't want to write in this moment because i am afraid someone will read it. fascinating.

i dont want them to see into me. it feels as though i must perform for them. who? i am not sure. but i feel as though i must be careful in expressing myself, or else they'll find me. and yet, i really just want to be found. moreover, this whole little exercise i just went through probably revealed more than i could have ever imagined.

god hopes i'll hope to believe in him. structure gently reminds me to seek it. intimacy is getting closer to telling me straight up to sit still and surrender. the silence doesn't say to me. and i really dont know what i'm doing.

may i choose the path of the familyman sooner than later? the prepwork makes me nauseous .

Me mañana Austin love.

Yes mam, I feel good. Uh huh. It’s on. I’m in the path and everything be aight. Life is so beautiful it almost gives me a headache. The colors are like, “BLAM!” I just love this shit.

I am so busy right now. I am always so busy right now. I wonder what that’s about?

I want so much…I want everything that can possibly fit in me. That’s where Aristotle and I differ…I am into the moderation thing…but only so long as it enables me to absorb as much as fucking possible. Yes sir. The only reason I want to be healthy is to take more information, to know one thing more intimately, to love more people, to love one person more passionately, to live longer/deeper/harder/richer/more-beautifully-peacefully, to speak clearer, to think clearer, and on and on….until life becomes so thick, so refined, so grimy, and so fucking ill that puking remains.

Someone asked me if I liked something the other day….I like everything….really almost everything.

I just prefer salad, butter, Dionysus, petite women, chocolate, extended aerobic exercise, mineral water, stretching, hip hop, late fifties Coltrane, red wine, heavy whipping cream, contemporary French and German philosophy, winning, being alone or rolling around on the floor with a pretty girl, and Abraham.

I can do without all those things though. Cheap cooking oil really sucks though. I’d rather get a boyfriend than have to eat food fried in cheap cooking oil on a regular basis.

oh the glamour

http://www.pacolink.com/pix/2006_12_31/index.html

i love you

11pm. I drank to much coffee. My whole body is shaking. Urrrr….Ggzzzzh. Dididit…

I have no idea what the hell to do my life.

I used to interrupt critiquing myself in the mirror by asking: “when will you ever be good enough?” Then I might cry or just feel eternally trapped for a few moments. Right now I can’t even get myself together to judge myself. I want so badly lately to feel like I need to be something or be accepted by someone. There are little spills of loving someone deeply and wanting things to be more pleasant for them, but overall I just feel like busy nothingness or not-busy nothingness. I want me. Why can’t I have me? I want someone else. Why can’t I have someone else?

The lack of foreknowledge and planning makes this whole thing appear haphazard, but I also sense a pattern…it just can’t be deciphered…maybe…or maybe its just jargled chtonknarg. One thing is for sure, damn’t: Personne and Nadié won’t stop sending me memos in alien scripts.

I get so frustrated with this communicating thing, I just want to draw circles everywhere and then break them. And then, much later, run around screaming and cutting myself with all the perfectly round soft pieces of straight lines. And then, but at the same time, be very quiet and very alone forever.

Have I mentioned lately how desperately I would like to be held, cared for, and accepted by someone?

So, getting back on track, I have been telling people in Paris that I plan to become a diplomat. Although, quite honestly, I think if I tried to tell them in French everything I just wrote in English, they would be convinced that I was confused and I wasn’t actually meaning to say what I was saying. (That last sentence would be so much cooler if English had a real subjunctive---Anglos are so lame…I am like totally going to only write in Spanish and French when I get big). They’ll see one day though…I’m going to make such a mess of French that the structure breaks down completely and we all get to see God naked and spread.

Trip7 @ Flipnotics…8pm Sunday January 14th (2 days after I get home)! Plus, it’s FREE for those who don’t give cash love offerings to the band and don’t feel guilty about not buying anything from Flip’s!

ouais, j'ai mangé le miroir. et quoi?

Rhyme my letter backwards. One week mas. What’s it gonna be? Each week is always so different that I am excited to see what the next one brings. Moreover, the last week is often the best since I can actually speak the language at an acceptable level by then.

I have numerous dates with French peeps to trade speaking in French and English. It looks like I will meet a splattering of personalities. Yes! (I’m pulling down my fist with my elbow half-bent, really fast and with glee)….my first one is in 40 minutes.

Alors, je suis allè au musèe Pablo Picasso cet apres-midi. Freak. I like him.

Who peed in that one weed?
It’s a filth, filthy lie that urine helps plants grow.
Sodium bicarbonate…that’s good for my mouth.
Sodium lauryl sulfate…that’s bad for my mouth.

My children will most likely be very difficult teenagers, unless, I am a ruthless dictator from the very beginning and they expect nothing less. That means bleach baths and eyebrow shaving every other night.

I haven’t been exercising here. Can you tell? I’m not sure if I can tell? And that’s a problem, cause I thought it was REALLY important. This goes for sitting too. I really don’t know if I can tell a difference. Shit. What am I going to do then? I have to have something to believe in? Right? If God can’t at least give me sitting in silence and running, than that’s just bullshit. Could she really want me to not believe in anything?!?!

I’m like a helium balloon cut loose…they have to pop eventually? Or maybe they don’t, I’ve never actually seen one pop when it hits the edge of the atmosphere. I bet it just keeps going till it reaches the end of Universe. Then, it waits for all the other balloons to slip themselves off the wrists of little children and live in the freedom/alienation of endless nothingness. Whoo! Come on guys. It’s fuckin great once you get used to the constant darkness and not being able to breathe!

I highly, highly suggest that everyone listen to Dr. Octagon more often.

day before the last

its the last before the last this evening. i met austin girls and ended being with them the last two nights. weird.

i stayed up all night and went to a brazilian dance club. dope. never seen anything like it. dope. most eclectic mixes i've ever heard. crazy brazilian drum shit mixed with old school french music into rage against the machine into the ramones into james brown with house beats. and the crowd was a fascinating mix. had to wait for the morning metro home at 530 and didnt sleep until 7am. woke at 4pm and was sick. drank a bunch of really strong coffee and everything worked out fine. i really want to be open to everything, but partying and me dont mix so well. i am tired and i wish i would have stayed home and practiced yoga.

missed the train tonight so i am staying at my friend's......the others are watching sarah silverman on the other laptop......

they cant tell im building a fort, and i quite honestly, i forgot until right now. its getting big though, i dont even know what it is yet. that worries me a tad, but then i realize i've never known, so perhaps that will be the case forever. fuck. but i want to understand. the really frustrating thing is that i feel like i am building the fort no matter what i do. therefore, even if i try to quit, i am still building the fort. fuck. everything fits into the fort. what an inescapable bitch.

i cried for the first time in a long time the other night. it was because i love lia so much.

good luck everyone. i hope all your lives work out as conveniently as possible and you may casually accept and ease into the various conditions.

yours
angelo

It’s Christmas at 11:59PM. So, Jesus was born today. Cool. I am listening to Elliot Smith on my personal laptop computer 2006 years after homeboy was born. It’s funny being with all these secular European people who think the religious Christmas thing is even dumber than most Americans think it is. They, however, don’t think its dumb to set up dead trees in their houses and make themselves feel guilty every year about having to get other people gifts. I personally prefer the myth to the guilt. Tell me some stories about saviors and pretty afterlifes. You can keep all the built-up expectation for imaginary ideals in this life (e.g. the perfect gift or the perfect Christmas morning). Although, I do like the trees—they’re pretty. Plus, the Romans were into them too—I like anything the Romans did.

Okay, moving on…women, that’s my next subject. Nope, not gonna talk about that! Well, I will say that I want to marry one and make babies. Then, my family will cook and eat fantastic dinners every night, drink red wine (including the kids), play board games, read short stories and poems out-loud (in all kinds of languages), eat great cheese and chocolate, pray out-loud, drink espresso (not the kids), laugh, cry, play music, do yoga, perform family plays, sleep all-day sometimes, hug and hold each other a lot, go on walks in the woods, do anything else that we think seems fitting to who we are, and then watch each other die one by one.

So, Paris…I want to move here next year, if I don’t go to Egypt. Just watch me.

What am I doing with my life?

Aight, let’s go. As I dig into the spaces in between the larger cervices, I find little notes I wrote to myself along the years. I found one today and it was excellent. It told me that I wanted what I used to have, but that I gave that up. Moreover, it said that I can’t ever get it back because it’s different now. I couldn’t believe it at first, so I looked for another note to refute it. None. Next, I tried to prove the note was inauthentic: “This isn’t my note! I swear I didn’t write this!” To show how serious I was, I went ahead and tried to tear it up, but I couldn’t. I mean, I could have, but it would have hurt. And I would have been bleeding all over the place. I am staying in a guest room, you know; that’s just not polite.

After I accepted it couldn’t be destroyed and conceded its authenticity, I tried to remember when I wrote it. The problem was, when I wrote this note (and most of the notes I write to myself) I was in one of those external life-changing moods of mine and I wrote it in a rush, as a contrary view to the actions I was taking. You know, just a second thought I might like to remember. What if?

Well thank God I believe in Gospel of Jesus Christ and know everything is moving towards Salvation! It would seriously suck if I didn’t (or at least seem like it sucked). I can’t even believe God makes people choose other ways of perceiving life. It’s seems cruel.

What’s weird is that I don’t ever think about Jesus, don’t know if he ever existed, and don’t care. Weirder: I don’t even know what I’m talking about when I write the word God. And God still lets be a Christian. And anything else I should/want to be.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is: Thank you Jesus for being born on this day and letting me not care about anything while being tortured by the constant feeling that every instant is of the utmost importance.

Merry Christmas