people will never know what little bitches they are. that statement may include myself, but i witness it all of the time. i'm one of those people who speak critically of others and usually mean it, and i don't talk shit just to be in accordance with the general discussion. but i know a lot of people who do that, as if it'll make someone "in" to have an opinion harmonious with the presently acting conversation. maybe some people believe what they say when they say it, but they turn into totally backward pussies when no one is looking. and it's fucking foul how people are so fucking judge-mental about shit but are horrible personality fuckups, those types of people who embody everything unexciting about the human character and will die after an inexcusably bland life.

on a lighter note i think a lot of the people i know are making my mind ill. there have been many occurances when i've taken a double-take at the existing situation that i'm in and wondered, "what the fuck?" and "who are these people?" i suppose i've become one of those experience-whores that i've scrutinized in my own mind before, those little fuckwits who think everything that is fucking gay is fucking great, those mush-brained idiots who love to do things for the sake of doing them. as if going through the motions of sickening bullshit is a "good time" and "something to do" will save us from the inevitable awful curse of being a fucking square.

it's perhaps true that males go through their own form of pms, in which case i'm experiencing the certain moon phase that would make me moody and note even the most remote act or attribute of a person to be annoying. although that goes without saying that i constantly observe the things that normally go unnoticed, but don't get me wrong. i am the first person to celebrate the odd idiosyncrasies and strange demeanors a person can have, but sometimes the way a person talks or acts can literally make me feel mad. not necessarily superior, but angry at the person for being the person that they are. people often call me weird, but that's because they don't know better.

i had a dream about cats today. in the dream my mother brought home a bunch of cats, and they all kept on clawing at me so i started to cry at my mom for help, but i couldn't enunciate any of my words well enough to be articulated for her to understand. waking up from the dream on the couch in our dining room, my mom and brother said i was talking out loud, moaning in pain, but that wasn't enough of a sign for them to try and wake me up and snap out of it. i think i experienced the duality of being aware of my existence in two worlds while asleep; simultaneously aware of being in my dream as well as laying on the couch in the waking world. it's hard to explain. i haven't read any philosophy or psychology texts or whathaveyou, but i'm sure this is described in something, somewhere, somehow.

it's the first day of august and i'm beginning to wonder where everything has gone. though not being consumed by an international theatre production like the previous summer (ref. I, II), this summer vacation has seen itself fleeting at an unsuspected pace, and my official youth is beginning to see its end as well. like sands in the hourglass. this will be the last summer of my life before the government recognizes me as an adult, but i think i did fairly well in my time as a legal boy. even though i teetered on the borderlines of abomination and foresight, i was always someone my mother could love, and that's all that really matters. i feel sorry for those people who hate their mothers.