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  • Listening to: low millions - nikki don't stop
  • Reading: pygmy by chuck palahniuk
  • Watching: dogma
  • Drinking: white tea
He never was the type to really care about time. you can't see, touch or taste it, time is just there, its like air, except the side effects are lethal. You never really know how much spare time you have left in your pocket, you never really learn to accept the fact that it will eventually consume you. His friends appreciated his company, his sense of humor, the way he carried himself as if he didn't really care what anybody thought of him, except he did. He didn't need anymore friends, his phonebook had enough entries in it to make space for new ones, so in a group of fresh acquaintances he kept to himself.

Our lungs can hold up to seven pints of air, yet an average person takes in a pint of air with each breath. People with weak lungs often speak in monotone and may sound like there is sorrow in their voices. I happen to think his voice was a little too chipper for his own good, except in the mornings.

On the morning of his thirty fourth birthday, still in bed , he asked his wife what time it was, she replied and then asked him if she kisses the frog will it turn back into her loving husband, they smile, I smile. She wishes him one happy miracle on his birthday, followed by a kiss. After wiping the crusty remains of the morning from his eyes, he gets out of bed and goes about his daily routine. Except on that day being constantly interrupted by birthday phone calls as he brushes his teeth, puts on the moisturizer for his baggy eyes, reads the morning paper, puts on his favorite shirt - that has a small burn mark on the bottom corner of the shirt from when him and his wife went at it spontaneously and she tossed it onto a lamp. Making plans while making plans. I try not to disrupt his big day, after all, I have never seen him at this age yet, so I'm careful as to not bother him. His wife makes arrangements with his friends for the party later that day, its a weekend so they aim for mid afternoon. He was a bit of a troubled man, his life was a puzzle that was never really put together properly. If certain things bothered him, he was the kind of person to keep them bottled in.

If you unfold the lungs of an average adult, it could cover the size of a tennis court. I was never really into tennis. When he was younger, he thought he was special, he thought he was indestructible, so one day he jumped out of his family's third floor apartment balcony onto his neighbor's garden, where the first floor neighbors grew vegetables. He jumped because he was practicing his escape route, in case he ever needed to run away from home. Little was left of the vegetables in the garden, or his kneecap, which shattered on impact, it was eventually rebuilt and he was able to recover.

He gives his wife a hug, she gives him a shopping list, I give them more time. His mood is bright, but with each deep breath he takes, on the exhale, he feels as if his heart drops. That feeling you get when you are about to go through a drop on a roller coaster. In one of the rooms, a faint sound of alarm goes off, I tell him its okay, I will take care of it, he puts on his penny loafers and is out the door into the distant world of urban utility hunters and soccer moms. She sent him off, so she can cook and get everything ready for his big, birthday arrival. As he's walking around the stores, getting the important artifacts his significant other asked him for, he is being grazed by human traffic, shaken and pushed by random people that are telling him to wake up, and snap out of it. He feels light.

His wife is opening the door to greet the attendees, the Bobs and Tims and Jenniffers and Susans. Each one with a sack in hand, containing something of value that they think will throw a smile on our birthday boy's aging face. Conversations overlap in the living room with stories about how each attendee knows the host. Doorbell rings, Heathers, Johns, Andrews are all filling up the space in the tragic residence. He never liked celebrating his own birthday, as much as he did others. With bags in hand, he fumbles with the keys, stabs the keyhole and tackles the door to let himself inside, only to find himself being yelled and screamed at by his wife, close friends and a few family members.
Surprise.
He acts like he didn't know about this cheerful ambush and goes along with it, widening his eyes and smiling at everybody, mouthing thank you's. Hugs are being bestowed upon him, he is happy. In the middle of hugging one of the screamers, another screamer attaches what looks like a pointy device that can receive cable, to the top of his head. Everybody else is wearing one, they just made him a part of their delightful cult. He is thirty four, and they are making him feel like a child again, being spoiled by the warm compliments and wishes, that will never come true. As soon as the majority of guests each got their turn to verbally molest him with kindness, he is led by his wife (hand in hand) into a room, full of edible goodness, that she has prepared herself.

One time, at around the age of seven, he ate something that was most likely expired, for breakfast. On his way to school, he started to feel bloated, he felt like his stomach was expanding, he was scared that his insides were going to explode. He asked the teacher to call his mother, so that she can pick him up and fix him. Mother rushed over from work, worrying about her offspring and his nearly-exploding bowels, dragged him out of school and onto a bus to a hospital. She felt terrible that she didn't know what to do until they got to the hospital, so she just pet his head while he's cringing and holding his stomach. As they arrived at the hospital, he was nearly crying because he was in pain and didn't know what was going on inside of him, before they went into the doctor's office, he asked his mother to go to the bathroom. She waited patiently outside, worried, pacing. He came out with a look of relief and a deep sigh, it was the first time he had gas cramps.

At this point, the guests have managed to devour most of the meal his wife have prepared and people are requesting the presence of cake. While he sits at the helm of this dining committee, lights go dim. His eyes feel heavy, his breathing is stable, a wave of haze washes over him. His beautiful wife comes out of another room, with her face dimly lit by the flickering candles inserted into the cake. As the light dances across her face, her voice gets lost in the sea of other guests, though you can make out what her mouth is trying to say. Everybody is singing in unison, including me, while she brings the cake closer to him and as soon as the song comes to and end, a round of applause is being awarded to him. Now this is the moment where people normally make a wish, he draws a blank, and since he has everything, he looks at his beautiful wife and wishes for comfort in his life.
Pneumothorax.
He inhales a large amount of air, to get rid of the light that's illuminating everyone's face, looses his balance and collapses to the ground, his lungs collapse along with him, while the cake falls beside him off his wife's hands. I look at him laying there, clawing at his chest and feel like this has happened before. Everybody is panicking, screaming, but not the joyous screaming that guests of this tragic party were so eager to lay on his ears just moments before the meal. This is a different kind of surprise. His wife is crying over his twitching body now, people are dialing different numbers, and time seems like it has slowed down. Its getting darker now, even though some candles are still lit on the floor, marinating in cake. As his eyes glaze over, and his hearing is disappearing, I tell him. "Sometimes, amidst the cluttered archives of your life, you find comfort and sometimes, people wear pointy hats."

Everything goes black.

He wakes up.

page 103

Tue Aug 29, 2006, 9:52 AM
august 28th</u> /
..1.36am - What are you suppose to think of yourself when all you hear from people that are suppose to support you most, is avalanche of verbal abuse? When you are being reminded everyday that you're a nobody, going nowhere, even if in other people's eyes you're an ideal friend. Often being compared to people that wasted their life away, the losers who accomplished zero, nill, nada. Working a dead-end job, with no degree, you did this to yourself. You did this, you decided to skip out on the higher education. You have cut yourself off from friends, from family members living less than a football field away, from fresh air alltogether (let's not go as far as saying "fresh" about the air in New York, but you get my drift). Locking yourself away in a paper prison of your own appartment, isolation, seemed logical since you can't afford to have fun without the green. Sleeping pills are a good way to reboot your system, because in reality the difficulty of life can be too hard for some. So cheers my friend, grab some h2o, chase down an army of medicine you just swallowed, kick back and enjoy the show. Enjoy your life's highlights in slow-mo, written, directed and produced by yours truly. All your glory days as a kid, loved by everyone, no pause, no rewind, this is your True Hollywood Story, your Pay-Per-View event, World Premiere. That one time when you split your head open trying to dance in a room full of drunk relatives, the time when your uncle, who you dearly miss, pushed you aside and you landed with the back of your skull molded to a corner of some sharp piece of furniture. The forecast shows clouds of panic with a chance of hysteria showers. Bathtub, a qarter-full of blood, family and siblings all around, trying to tuck your medulla oblongata back in, your dad passing out, oh those were the days. You were the center of attention, smiling at the reflection of you in the maroon tub, happy to know that you're important, cared for by all ('cept your dad, he's on the floor, passed out from seeing half your brain nearly leak out), loved by most. Right now the pills marching through the back of your throat, you can hear them, rattling around like a bunch of garbage being thrown down a disposal. Won't be long before they find you with your shirt off on the floor, next to your laptop computer, finishing up the last sentence you will ever write, cursor still blinking and all. A flashback of a first black eye here, first kiss there, and you start to realise that you're permanent, your life isn't. When your sister was at the age of three or four, you would make her cry by leaving her alone in a dark room, only to come back few minutes later to tears and hugs, fulfilled with a sense of accomplishment, knowing that you're needed, that's how you sucked the love out of people, you evil little shit. Blink, next channel, comedy, the time your ass got stuck in tar on a newly constructed roof, your red sandals are still glued to the top of the building where you used to live, still there as a monument, a statue that you made yourself.  Sad that the biggest mark you left for people to remember you by on this waste of a planet are the two, shiny, still glowing traffic-light-red, size 2 baby kicks. Your own hollywood square. The little marching meds are kicking in, this is when - WAKE UP! WAKE THE FUCK UP! You're late for work! it's 8.30am, you said you had to leave at 8am! Get the fuck out of bed. Thanks conscience. My life, it's a sick maze with cheese at every corner.

can you hear yourself think?
  • Listening to: the stone roses - fools gold
  • Reading: haunted by chuck palahniuk
  • Watching: the jacket

untitled

Mon May 15, 2006, 2:58 AM
.. 3.42am, I've done nothing all day. I slept, felt like shit when I was awake, and slept some more. Now that I'm up, I'm just going to grab a bite to eat and then pass out listening to some depressing piece of soothing earcandy. Is it in these moods that we are suppose to produce something artistic? Do you automatically become an artist once you put your thoughts onto a piece of paper or paint them on canvas? I'm at a point in my life where I feel like I have nothing to look forward to, the things I wanted to see or accomplish are just muffled sounds thumping in and out of my head. I feel like a robot on autopilot, going somewhere and doing things that other people would want to see me do. Why does it take a tragedy to produce something beautiful? Can you love life? I wish I was able to appreciate it more. I wish that I could hold on to some of the people I meet.. one person in general. The person that shares the great unknown with you, the person that appreciates your efforts to make things better for the two of you, the same exact person that squeezes toothpaste from the middle and the person that you can be comfortable being yourself around wearing your grandma's panties, if it were to come to that. There is no specific point I'm trying to make here, this is just your typical, run-of-the-mill, tour through the half-closed doors of my thinkbox. Some people never find their Eve, the Eve that their inner Adam once gave a rib for. It's like we are the people, put here on earth to play a game. How it goes is, you, long ago, gave something away to a person to hold onto, that something was a half of your heart (or a rib). What God did (if there is one), is shuffle us all like a deck of cards, and threw us up on the planet we call home. Now we're lost in our own habitat, looking for the person without a face who has the other half of your heart you once gave away to. When you find that person, you win a prize, you win the life-long vacation in paradise, this paradise we will call a healthy relationship with a person that made you complete and vice versa. This prize would be love. 4.26am Why did the bitch had to eat the apple? You know, I believe in reincarnation, I believe that once we're done fucking around here, by that I mean once we've run out of sand in the hourglass, we become germs. As if. On the last time you exhale, you let out your lifelong soul, or a bacteria in this case, that floats around, looking for a vulnerable host to invade. This is when you start over. So people that once left a message, committed a crime, created something beautiful are the same people that later find that message, solve the crime, and the same people keep on creating something beautiful where they left off. We all start off with preloaded talents in our hard-drives. I mentally kill things I love, and then bitch and whine about it, that is my talent. We run around in circle or a pentagon all our lives, trying to connect the dots, leaving cookie crumbs after ourselves so we don't get lost and get back to the place we once started off with. I don't even like writing, but at this point, after a long night of drinking and all day of feeling like a shit at the bottom of your shoe, it's actually pretty therapeutic. 5.02am I want my half back. I want to learn how to play the guitar again, because I once knew, then forgot, I want to write songs about breakups. You know that one song that triggers something when you listen to it, because you think it's poetically well put together, because you can relate to it, because you went through the same shit once too and you just want to give a good, firm handshake to the song's creator and give 'em a nice pat on the back for the deja vu. The same germ-like character that fell from the 'breakup' tree and hit every branch on the way down, wrote that song. I want to be back with my someone, the one that makes me feel whole again. This 'dear diary' babble shit is done.  5.12am ..find me again please. I feel like my head is a balloon being detached from my body, and my mind floating away in search of interesting subjects to think about. What would happen if all that you think about was actually presented to other people on a silver platter, when somebody asks you on your thoughts about their plastic surgery operation and you just happen to laugh a little in your head and proceed to think how their nose looks like an elephant trunk tied in a knot. Picture your thoughts being put into comic-book style bubbles, imagine walking around the city being able to read what people are thinking, turning pages and then reading more. Imagine how overwhelming it would be. Well when you find your half's keeper that's pretty much how it is.. you don't have to worry about them lying to you about where they have been the night before, or whether or not your ass looks fat in those jeans, yes it does and they will let you know that. You can simply read their mind. How surreal would our world be if we could all have mentally constructed appartments in our heads, then invite others to see how you live. We would live in pure bliss. Would it bother you much if the person that you invited to have a look-see at the newly redesigned humble abode in your head starts hogging the blankets or not wiping their feet on the fresh laid 'welcome' mat located somewhere between cerebellum and the brain stem? I have the biggest brainstorm in my head right now, guess I kind of crashed my appartment when I got drunk last night, now the whole place is a mess, hypothalamus is all fucked up, can't sleep in peace anymore, damn cold in here. I want to invent a color and give it a name, a person's name, maybe a gender too.. 5.45am still here, I wonder.. if I had a thick black stripe on my forehead, it would smile.

can you hear yourself think?
  • Listening to: milosh - the city
  • Reading: last exit to brooklyn
  • Watching: requiem for a dream

still here.

Thu Oct 20, 2005, 5:29 AM
hi.

+ Talented mofos and such :
sEan:dimA:angeTriste:yury:pacMan23:Eosis:danimation2oo1

:::::::

(check it) :

flirt by anttek green with envy by anttek ensconce by anttek


:picknose:

L://.

.bye
  • Listening to: tycho - dictaphone's lament (tychomusic.com)
  • Reading: invisible monsters - chuck palahniuk
  • Watching: employee of the month

updating style.

Tue Apr 19, 2005, 5:32 AM
hi.

+ Talented mofos and such :
sEan:dimA:angeTriste:yury:pacMan23:Eosis:danimation2oo1

:::::::

New year, New crap (check it) :

vintage irony by anttek United Colors of April by anttek closer by anttek
Cindy of the Spring by anttek Cindy the spunky by anttek retro Ella by anttek
Michelle of the Summer by anttek focus by anttek smoker's digest by anttek


:picknose:

L://.

.bye
  • Listening to: coldplay - talk
  • Reading: me talk pretty one day
  • Watching: house of flying daggers
+ Track stuck in my head :
Aqualung - StrangeandBeautiful
:meditate:

+ Talented mofos and such :
sEan:dimA:angeTriste:yury:pacMan23:Eosis:danimation2oo1

:::::::

Please post your favorite music here, I'm always looking for new crap to look into, thanks.  :picknose:

L://.
+ Track stuck in my head :
Fluke - AtomBomb
:meditate:

+ Talented mofos and such :
sEan:dimA:angeTriste:yury:pacMan23:Eosis:danimation2oo1

:::::::

Just wanted to let people out there know that me and a friend (d-ma.deviantart.com) are working on some photography projects in the near future. If you live in the NY area and would like to participate, let us know.

Bye kids, and remember, nobody is allowed to touch you in your bathing suit area. :picknose:

L://.
+ CD stuck in my head :
Air - TalkieWalkie
:meditate:

+ Talented mofos and such :
sEan:dimA:angeTriste:yury:pacMan23:Eosis:danimation2oo1

:::

You have reached me, and me is not available, leave me a messege and me will get back to you shortly. beep.


:::
+ CD stuck in my head :
ParisLounge4 - Paris by Day 12.00 P.M
:meditate:

+ Talented mofos and such :
sEan:dimA:angeTriste:yury:pacMan23:Eosis:danimation2oo1


[!]
instructions:
1. Copy this whole list into your journal.
2. Bold the things that are true about you.
3. Whatever you don't bold are false.
[!]

:invisible:
01. When I was younger I made some bad decisions
02. I don't watch much TV these days
03. I love psychedelic mushrooms
04. I love sleeping
05. I have loads of books
06. I once slept in a toilet
07. I love playing video games
08. I adore marijuana
09. I watch porn movies
10. I watch them with my father
11. I like sharks
12. I love spiders, I think they're adorable, especially the ones with bright colours on their backs
13. I was born without hair and I still have no hair
14. I like J. Bush
15. People are cool
16. I have changed a lot mentally over the last year
17. I have jacuzzi and a Porsche
18. I have a lot to learn
19. I carry my knife everywhere with myself
20. I'm really really smart *maybe... hehe
21. I've never broken someone's bones
22. I have a secret
23. I hate snow
24. I drink only milk
25. Punk rock rules
26. I hate Bill Gates!
27. I love Chinese food *almost any FOOD in general!!
28. I would hate to be famous
29. I am not a morning person
30. I wear glasses (err... lenses)
31. I don't need glasses, except sunglasses
32. I have potential
33. I'm pure Japanese
34. My legs are two different sizes
35. I have a twin
36. I wear a padded bra
37. I can ramble on about absolutely nothing
38. I'm left-handed
39. I hate llamas, but I'm one of them
40. I don't like horror movies
41. I suck at climbing, but I love it anyway
42. People hate me usually.
43. I love pop music
44. I hardly ever go to bed before midnight
45. I hate parking fines
46. I know national anthem of my country by heart
47. I know more than two languages *sorta... do computer languages count?
48. I spend too much time on the computer (my mother is timing me now) *well, she doesn't really time me...
49. I often want to throw the computer out of a window
50. I live on a ground floor
51. I don't like chocolate
52. I'd like to be more original
53. I've lied
54. Cocks are my favorite birds
55. I want to conquer the world
56. I wonder what happens when you die
57. I've read all books about Harry Potter
58. Eat your dog!
59. I love to exercise.
60. I hate chemistry with a passion
61. I love to write
62. I like changes
63. I hate going to class
64. I am afraid to die
65. I hate dish washing
66. My hair is long, brown, and incredibly curly
67. My nails are nine inch long
68. My favorite color is black
69. I like to sleep on the floor
70. I am hopeless at cooking
71. I sucked my thumb when I was little.
72. I should be doing something else rather than writing this
73. I am online a lot, but not in MSN
74. I hate government
75. I don't have a girlfriend/boyfriend *officially... but others seem to think/know otherwise???
76. I'm too nice for my own good.
77. I love to read, I read as much as I can.
78. I don't trust newspapers
79. I like debating
80. I live in a wagon
81. I clean my room once a month
82. I'm scared of american fast food
83. I have a third eye
84. I love Mozambique
85. I don't trust any religion.
86. I used to play with barbies because all the other girls were doing it
87. I wanted to be a super hero when I was little.
88. I like listening to wind chimes
89. I'm very disorganized
90. My hair is long and straight
91. I earn a lot
92. I don't like spicy food
93. I keep a diary *a daily journal actually
94. I can't do cartwheels
95. I am very lazy.
96. I'm sarcastic *sometimes
97. I think my hair is annoying
98. I'm very sensitive
99. I love being "ab-normal"
100. My left eye is violet and my right eye is a light blue.
I've been busy, haven't had the time to update my gallery nor journal, just wanted to say that I still am around. Will deffinetly have more projects coming up further in the future. I would like to thank sean for the exposure. He's one of the best artists and down-to-earth people I have had a chance to meet in this wasteland we call world.
My style and appearance has been changing for a while now, hopefully I'll emerge into something I wish to be (for me to know). I also want to suggest you pick up coldplay's cds, beautiful mellow music with great male vocals and poetic lyrics. They have influenced my life and changed my views on many things.
If you wish to contact me you may do so by e-mail, as I check that more often.

inactive@techie.com


                                ..touche.
Uhm.. hello.  *munch*

I am looking to start a website for myself, like a portfolio / forum / chat, maybe webcam sessions, the whole deal, the thing is I don't know how to make one.. if you are a webdesigner and have some free time on your hands, please contact me by e-mail at inactive@techie.com , there won't be any money involved, just gratitude, sorry. I'm broke. lol.


track stuck in my head: FC Kahuna - Hayling.

Thank you.
:Eh.. Hello there party people.
I have been just trying to get some decent tracks to listen and relax to on my (one and a half hour) ride to work.
It's going to be a mellow cd with weird beats, so far it consists of :

o1. Blue Six - Sweeter Love.
o2. Telepopmusik - Breathe.
o3. Royksopp - Poor Leno (Jakatta Mix).
04. Justin Timberlake - Cry Me a River (Dirty Vegas Mix).
o5. Metric - Grow Up and Blow Away.
o6. Raven Maize - Fascinated (Joey Negro Club Mix).
o7. Kings of Convenience - I Don't Know What I Can Save You From (Royksopp Mix).
o8. Royksopp - Remind me (original) or (??? Mix).
o9. Fischerspooner - Emerge.

I need some more tracks similar to those.. if you have any suggestions please let me know, post a comment or send a note.. Thanks.
:currently listening to 'Breathe - Telepopmusic' from the cd 'Genetic World' nice, trippy music. :)

:about past 5 or 6 of my submissions were made/submitted while listening to 'Coldplay'. Get their cd it's out right now (A rush of blood to the head).

:I'm out of here faster than crazy town's career. :pee: