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.

friday we got plastered. i'm the most agreeable person you'll ever meet when i'm inebriated. i guess if you asked everyone who was there how it went you'll get mixed reviews. since we were allowed more freedom i personally enjoyed the night at larry's house a lot more, but drinking in the park wasn't so bad. i know some loud motherfuckers.

saturday i spent time recuperating. i wasn't hung over, but my body needed rest from the many long days and late nights of the past few weeks. after church i watched fight club for the first time since freshman year, just to revisit the movie as something of a relic of my youth. seth came over during the night and brought over some super nes games as well as some movies of his own. i thought idle hands was supposed to be a comedy. the lights in my eyes dimmed and i fell asleep during cannibal: the musical and reawoke to seth playing super mario rpg at 5 o'clock in the morning.

sunday we went to the pista sa nayon. many filipino people, specifically young filipino people, are such fucking flakes. the festival had nothing to do with being filipino. roger summed it up best when he said "the girls look like they want to be models and the guys look like they want to fuck." afterwards we filled our bloods with the sugary death of slurpee juice and played basketball. following our hoop dreams, we dilly-dallied at roger's house, and osiris and i exchanged one-word stories of our boring lives online. she asked us to come down to her apartment, and so anthony and i hiked all the way up north to shoreline with the intent of swimming. swimming ensued, and afterwards we decided to drive to the showbox in downtown seattle where we fucked with people using the bullhorn. also, osiris gave us each our pick of a trucker hat from her collection, and so now i have a black one. yay.