coming to you live from macchu pichu. or however the fuck you spell it it doesn't fucking matter since this is even less real than graphite or more real or whatever since there are no goddamned expecations from the universe

yeah i can't listen to jazz. i'm incapable. i could when i was sort of dead and dreary-minded a long time ago. my deadness now is still not as dumbed as then. now i can barely even listen to my gorgeous cha-cha and conga and ballroom albums. aren't those beautiful words? far better even than "rococo" and "carmine" and "redolent". well maybe not better, but the meanings are better anyway. who gives a shit about interior design and potpourri.

i think i'm about seventy-three percent vegan but i'm not quite sure how to go about calculating that. or i'm not quite willing. just like when i had one of the five or so meaningful ideas for paintings that i've ever had, one of which i've actually executed, when i had that one that would have required several mathematical formulas in order to be executed truly and correctly, i was not willing to do the math. DO THE MATH! fuck you, dad.

but it would serve god so maybe i should do it someday.

it would serve jesus in salinger's terms which are the only ones i buy.

sorry eric knapp, but if i can't make you love buddhism then we can't be friends. i mean, you're dating lindsey spurrier, for chrissssakes. (there's some slovenly slurring for ya. i'm such a little tart.)

and GODDAMMIT buddhism is NOT the same as hinduism. fucking cracker. i'm not a goddamned polytheist. goddammit.

why can't we be friends why can't we be friends (the one thing smashmouth did okay was something they stole... FIGURES!!)

tart tart tartytwat... too bad i'll never care enough about french underwear and fuckme shoes
'twould have been fun

remember paris, we'll always have paris!!!! :) :) :) :) :)

how may i serve you, radiohead??

THAT'S NOT HOW MY GODDAMNED MIND WORKS. guess how it works. it doesn't fuckign work at all. it's just passing on through. i don't have any coherent thoughts. nothing at all. it's just like one big fucking blur that is occasionally concretified by something i see which isn't even real. guess why? because i've read the celestine prophesy and thus hold to an ideal of human evolution which calls on me to look at things for what they are, or maybe it doesn't no it doesn't call on me too but i do anyway cause i'm loyal to that goddamned james redfield, a horrible fucking writer. but i see all this shit in atoms. too fucking bad. when you know what shit is made of you can't fucking enjoy it. GOT IT?? WHY THINK???????????????

so like this computer is not at all. it's like one fucking vibration like everything else. and stupid life forms are just vibrating a bit more or a whole lot more or something but it can't be too much more or else we wouldn't be visible. we'd be god which is what WOULD happen if this goddamned economy did not FUCKING EXIST. I HATE THE GODDAMNED ECONOMY. I HATE THIS SHIT. GODDAMMIT FATHER WHY ARE YOU SO GODDAMNED SELFISH I HATE VIETNAM. I HATE IT AND I HATE YOUR GODDAMNED FATHER. I HATE HIM FOR MAKING YOUR MOTHER AN ALCOHOLIC AND FOR FUCKING YOU AND YOUR SISTER UP, YOUR SISTER WHO FUCKED YOU UP EVEN MORE, AND THEN THE BOTH OF YOU FUCKUPS FOR FUCKING YOUR BROTHER UP. I HATE ALL YOU BASTARDS.

phewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

so back what i'm twiceheartedly trying to explain here. so i don't think in words and i don't think in pictures. i think in i dont know what. ms baylor says i "intuit". and i still don't understand that and i never will because it's all energy and that's ununderstandable because none of us are god yet.

we're not all white and pouf-fy.

like shawn.

like shawn would be if he didn't smoke weed sometimes.. like he would be if he didn't have to work and graduate.

elizabeth barrett browning. you stupid whore. just kidding sort of. i'm half jealous and half pissed off.

so not thinking in either words or pictures may quite explain why i don't think when i write or draw. unless i run into a problem which only happens when i'm thinking about what other people think of me. imagine what would happen if expectations did not exist.

THE CHAOS THEORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

the movie pi really sucks ass. that's what happens when people have no expecations. they make shitty movies. fuck you DARIN ARINOFFSKEEEEE can't fucking direct a goddamned movie

i'm really bored. and i feel stoned or something. or my imagination is getting looser again or something which would be kind of neat but it's always a bit scary... i'm always afraid i'm going to COMPLETELY lose touch with reality. i'm close enough. i have been since as long as i can remember... "monomania", thanks, dostoevsky. crime and punishment is not helping. oh wait maybe that IS the cause. still have about two hundred thirty pages to go before i feel like i won't be COMPLETELY cheating ms morse out of her teaching rites. or something. anyway before i annoyingly remembered that i was reading this book and have been for seemingly countless hours even though i keep stopping or something... before i remembered this lovely fact, i thought my boredom and freaky-mindedness was due to some foggy dregs of nicotine and marijuana and VODKA (all hail russian writers, let's throw in some samovar) which i "passively" (cannot be casually referred to as "passively" since it cannot be true since those substances were REALLY a FOG--and here i demonstrate my true westham-white girl innocence) inhaled for about fifteen to twenty minutes in the middle of the second hour of last sunday morning. like maybe not being anything, almost, since an extremely and ominously depressing christmas night, would make me very very extra susceptible to it all, added to my relatively low human density in the first place, and added also to the density of that fickle fucking fog.

god i'm giggling like a fucking MONOmaniac. thank you, fyodor! you say feodor, i say fyodor, you say dostoyevsky, i say dostoevsky, feodor! fyodor! dostoyevsky! dostoevsky! let's not go to school no more.....

guess what's fun. GUESS NO LONGER! looking at a photo of yourself that's been on your closet door for a year, depicting you with a relatively very much altered appearance, remembering your old freaky selfish sexual fantasies, and imagining them again in astoundingly convincing reality. but not too frightening because they were always quite pure and innocent in nature. REMEMBER THIS. YOU USED TO ONLY WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOURSELF. THAT'S A BIT ODD. YOU "KNEW" IT THEN BUT DIDN'T CARE BECAUSE YOU CEASED TO "KNOW" ANYTHING AS THE RESULT OF CEASING TO THINK! sex drugs rock and roll four three to for months.

so there i was in my head, DANCING IN THE DARK because that's the song that was going through my head anyway and i didn't realize the disgusting analogy until now, go to hell lite98 and ukrop's or something, but anyways so i was wearing that cool green dress that i'll always get to wear unless something shitty happens, and i was the only one there unless you count the other one of me. because there were two of me. and we were dancing around as only we could do. because no one else likes to dance like we do which is always disappointing because like george webber i will always feel at the very inch away from grasping total joy and exuberance but it always seems that i can't reach it because i am not helped enough by others. i have come slowly, and progressively less bitterly, closer over the last many many years to sullenly and dully accepting this feeling. no wonder i've stopped socializing. so anyways, there i am/was or something dancing with myself and hey, we're both wearing that cool green dress except i think the rest of us were both in black and white but with a pinkish filter because that's how the photo looked and it would fit because we weren't real. so anyways. there we were and we got to twirl and fly in the air which is our favorite activity in the whole entire fake world. dude, do you know how sweet it would be to get to dance holding "your own" shoulders? to pivot and tumble in the air with sparkly green material fluttering amid you? with nothing but air and trees below and behind and inside ?? and to get to kiss yourself. since you always feel like your sexual feelings are not what others feel, your kisses are finally returned with their own estimated value, for once, thank god. and everything is fast and free and forgotten and wheeee! and it all happens in only perhaps three frames per second or would it be nine frames per second! yes it's nine frames per second because suddenly you're viewing now in ten frames per second, that's why it's moving so fast, how could i have made such a silly mistake, i should be taking math classes or would that be physics. and so there you are tearing at your/each other's shiny black braids and curls and biting at your lips and smiling and laughing but i dont' think you can hear your laughs because dancing in the dark is echoing from somewhere outside the trees. perhaps that's where the end of the universe is. and there are seventeen different camera angles per frame. and pink and blue and purple lights are flashing before the trees, somehow not gaudily, not at all

THERE.

there's how my goddamned mind works.

fuck you. FUCK YOU.