malcolm x, a spike lee joint, is a good film, even if it's THREE HOURS AND TWENTY FUCKING MINUTES LONG. i need to buy amelié on dvd, 'cuz i was watching some of the special features at rj's today, while working on our dna project like we did yesterday, and they're pretty interesting. i like that kid who plays the slow guy ("collignon, big moron!"). his first name is jamel.

amelié is such a beautiful fucking masterpiece of cinema.

by the way, i'm doing well. perhaps hanging out at roger's house for the past two days has given me some good spirits. i haven't hung out this much with the guy for a long time. WE NEED TO DO IT MORE, 'cuz my mood is really gay when we don't. I LOVE YOU RJ!

you know?

i love you too, my girl. maybe i'm not your prince charming, but i'm going to fool myself into thinking that i can get close to your skin. AND I LOOK FORWARD TO CALLING YOU ON MONDAY, despite the loads of homework weighing down us.

suddenly i feel inspired to live out the rest of my teenage years as a teenager. thank you.

i got less than two hours of sleep last night. i can feel the bags under my eyes.

the legend of zu, one flew over the cuckoo's nest, and mishima, all courtesy of roger habon. three good reasons to love cinema. they rekindled my passion for movies and such.

there's a lot of family stuff going on right now, but i'm too tired to write. goodnight.

cover your face and arms in lotion, 'cuz i just did. it's weird. it makes me feel good about myself. it makes me not sad.

this is perhaps one of the most opportune times of my life to write a song, and my goddamn guitar is in the shop. FUCK. i swear to god, there is so much shit swimming in my head right now, and all of it could coalesce into a magnificently sad song, if only i had my six strings of acoustic steel expression.

believe me. i am very sad now.

i can very well pin-point my feelings, and the CAUSE. it's so fucked up. i know this feeling from before, in fact the emotional direction of my writing - droning on and on and on, with no point - mirrors my writing from this previous feeling i used to have. but i'm confused. this time, it wasn't as deep as before, or even at all, and i shouldn't be feeling anything at all. yet i do, and nothing seems right to me anymore.

fuck this. i could SO FUCKING write a song right now. i could write a whole fucking album's worth of material.

fuck that. i'm a talentless hack.

fuck that. I'M FUCKING CHAINED BY THIS EASILY-FUCKED TEENAGERDOM, I AM SO FUCKING UNCOOL.

fuck that.

i realize i sound like a little bitch right now.

but whatever, yo.

i'm not feeling good at all.

200 m AND 400 m freestyle relay. I'M SO SLOW!

you know what? i don't hate everybody. in fact, i don't hate anybody. i don't know why i said so in the first place. i don't pay enough attention to all of you fucks to truly hate you. it's not your fault, anyway. it's not my fault i have this long standing relationship with the beauty and uglyness of this world.

hate sucks.

three essential beverages: ORANGE JUICE, MILK, AND WATER. you are living the american-fucking-dream if your refrigerator stocks all three!

of course, my refrigerator only has skim milk in it, right now. what the fuck. is my family going on a fucking diet? it doesn't make sense, because we're all skinny. GIVE ME 2% FAT, OR GIVE ME DEATH.

i've thought about doing homework. i think i'm going to really do it too, once i get something out of my system.

SHOOT SHOOT SHOOT WAAAAAAARGH! (track 6 on the queens of the stone age songs for the deaf album. I LOVE THAT FUCKING BAND!)

yo. i was wondering how we're all going to attain some sort of uplift, 'cuz yo, we all need it. i mean, i could go for some RISIN' ABOVE right now, 'ya heard?

when was it such a guilty sin to try and feel good, for once?

i've been reading bagombo snuff box, by kurt vonnegut. the man can write short stories, i can tell you that. the introduction of the book talks about how we as a society, the U.S. of A., used to read short stories out of magazines for afterschool/afterwork entertainment, instead of television.

i think i need to find something to battle my addiction to the internet. PERHAPS A SPONTANEOUS ROAD TRIP IS IN ORDER?

perhaps the first thing i'll do when i get my drivers liscense is drive faaaaaaar away, perhaps all the way to the east coast. i'll end up doing it in the middle of a semester in my junior year of highschool, the most crucial year of highschool. of course, i'll end up writing a book of memoirs of the experience, and win critical acclaim and nationwide adoration from teens everywhere for the freespiritedness of the work.

OR MAYBE, i'll just take a shower, and wash off all of this out of my mind.

i haven't even been listening to that song, lonely day by phantom planet, but it soooooo defines me right now. still, i want to be a composer of stoner-rock, like the goodly and righteous queens of the stone age, minus the the "stoner" label. I JUST WANT TO ROCK HARD, SWEAT, YELL, DRONE, BLEED, CRY, AND DIE! NAHMSAYN MY NIGS?

making an engagement ring made out of grass is on my "to do list."

it's just one of those times, when you truly don't know what to do, and you're thinking, "uhhh......."

i think i'm waiting for my life to revert to its once ghetto fabulous form, but i could really go for a rebirth right now.

of course, being reborn always requires a certain element: g irl sg ir ls gir l sg i rl sgi r l sg irl sg ir ls gir l sg i rl sgi r l sg irl sg ir ls gir l sg i rl sgi r l sg irl sg ir ls gir l sg i rl sgi r l sg irl sg ir ls gir l sg i rl sgi r l sg irl sg ir ls gir l sg i rl sgi r l sg irl sg ir ls gir l sg i rl sgi r l sg irl sg ir ls gir l sg i rl sgi r l sg irl sg ir ls gir l sg i rl sgi r l sg irl sg ir ls gir l sg i rl sgi r l s.

always on my mind.

well, one girl is, for sure. one gurl. grrrl.

"girl" sort of sounds like "go to hell" to me.

hacking with a hacky-sack is far easier, let alone enjoyable, when you are half naked. my brother doesn't approve, but i'm the only other person in the house who will hack with the kid, so there you go.

a nap can work wonders for you stress and anger management problems.

dashboard confessional - the places you have come to fear the most
paul simon - 50 ways to leave your lover
lou reed - take a walk on the wild side

now i have a headache, and i bet from reading the last entries i've written, you all have big fucking migraines too.

I AM SUCH A FUCKING TEENAGER, AND I AM FUCKING SICK OF IT.

DOES ANYONE HEAR ME?

I AM FUCKING SICK OF THIS BULLSHIT. WHEN THE FUCK WILL I GROW UP? I'VE BEEN WAITING AN AWFUL LONG TIME FOR MY SPIRITUAL, PSYCHOLOGICAL, AND EMOTIONAL MENOPAUSE.

OH LORD UP HIGH, HAVE I REALLY FUCKED UP IN A PAST LIFE TO DESERVE THIS? WAS I HITLER BEFORE I WAS JOSEPH?

i've inadvertently created an image for myself, of which i cannot remedy. no matter what i say, do, or believe with true honesty, no one will fall for it. to them, to everyone, to you, i am a one-sided weirdo. in your eyes, i am pretending to not care about anything. in your eyes, i am faking a depression. in your eyes, i am looking for pity. in your eyes, i am scum.

yet, in my mind, when i see your eyes, all i want to do is jump into them.

my faults go 360 degrees.

IF ONLY YOU FUCKING KNEW.

the lucomotion: where da hunnies at?
JOSEPHGUANLAO: haha
JOSEPHGUANLAO: i don't know.
the lucomotion: hey gaygay is on!
JOSEPHGUANLAO: WHO'S THAT?
the lucomotion: gAygAy

(gAy gAy = aa = adelbert asirot)

i took my guitar to the music store today, to get my action fixed (my guitar has a "high action," which means the strings are too high off of the neck). when i got there, the music store geek basically said, "fuck you, you know-nothing twit, i am the grand music master of the universe! you suck bal..... huh, is that a vintage washburn acoustic with elixir strings? certainly, i will help you out!"

actually, it went nothing like that, but i was imagining it in my head when i was in there.

though, i really am fucked. i'm going to get a free estimate on my guitar's problems, but i'm told that the actual repairs may cost more than a new guitar.

THE ROCKSTAR COSMOS ARE TOTALLY NOT WORKING IN MY FAVOR.

"alllllllllllllllllllllllll alone," so said my ephram character from face change. ephram was a fucking ghost. i was a fucking ghost. what the fuck.

all fucking alone.

my fiancé, where art thou? i know thy game of roleplay seems dim, but i play not. i kid not!

last night, my parents picked me up from anthony's house at 12:45 am. i felt pretty bad, but i didn't ask for them to wait. they stayed up, because they like to do that. when i got home, i drank a large glass of old fashioned homestyle chocolate milk, rich and bad for your digestive system, and drew for half an hour. of course, the pictures i drew were of rockstars.

and then i went to sleep, where i had a beautiful dream of which i can't even begin to remember, let alone describe. rich and bad for your digestive system.

i've stopped taking pictures. i carry the camera around all the time, but nothing is worth shooting. i need to find something that is RICH AND BAD FOR YOUR DIGESTIVE SYSTEM, which could be considered as both art and a piece of understanding.