Dane Cook.
November 12.
Floor seats.
Be jealous.
"This is more exciting than that time we went to see 'Sunshine'."
-Keith Stratton
Monday, October 30, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Forgive my lack of tact.
Please do. This hasn't been prepared. This hasn't been edited or proofread. This is pure unadultered NOW. Odds are it'll come out as a couple paragraphs of slobber. I couldn't possibly give less of a fuck.
I have been at Ramapo College of New Jersey for more than a month and more and more I wonder where the college experience is. What the hype is all about. I spend hours at a time sitting at the desk of my dorm room checking facebook for attention tossed my way from friends at other Universities. I pour over pictures of their drunken escapades, smiling faces, throngs of new friends. I read their walls and laugh as if I understand the inside jokes therein. I sit on AIM and hold online conversations with kids left behind, confidently comfortable in their high school situations. Perhaps this is because they're seriously satisfied with clique dynamics and the "mean girls microcosm". More likely they're counting the days until they too get to toss their caps into the air and join everyone else on the long trail to mediocrity. We expect to leave high school when we graduate. I didn't sign on for four more years of it.
Some of this is doubtlessly my own fault. For all my pretty wordplay I certainly would expect an element of maturity of myself which doesn't appear present. I still care too much about what people think. I'm still shy around girls and I still get my feelings hurt way to easily. Oh. And I still fucking hate myself. For all the aforementioned reasons. For my uncanny ability to always be around (cause?) all the goddamned drama. And then I drink. Maybe it's my suicide. More likely it's satisfaction to my desperate need to feel loved.
I left LiveJournal to symbolize an end to the self-loathing, girl chasing diary entries ripped from the pages of a fucking Chbosky novel. Old habits die hard.
What do I need? I can't even wrap my tongue, or in absense of an ear to listen, my keyboard around an appropriate articulation. I need so badly someone to love. Someone to send flowers to for no good reason. Someone to go on chilly autumn walks with. Someone to give my jacket to when she shivers. Someone to drink hot chocolate and count stars with, to sit in silence for hours... speaking nothing and saying everything. Someone to hug and hold. To watch smile and to watch glow.
Someone to write love songs about.
But the more I think about it, the more conclusive I am that I am so undeserving of that. Of that love.
Everything here is so fucking unstable. One day someone is pissed. The next the offending party, distraught with the effects of its actions, tosses and turns wondering how to make well. And then it's like... everything is hunky fucking dorey except the hole in my heart because I lost sleep over you and you never needed me half as much as I still need you.
No one knows what my problem is, least of all myself.
Bomb the fucking Blogosphere,
Mike
I have been at Ramapo College of New Jersey for more than a month and more and more I wonder where the college experience is. What the hype is all about. I spend hours at a time sitting at the desk of my dorm room checking facebook for attention tossed my way from friends at other Universities. I pour over pictures of their drunken escapades, smiling faces, throngs of new friends. I read their walls and laugh as if I understand the inside jokes therein. I sit on AIM and hold online conversations with kids left behind, confidently comfortable in their high school situations. Perhaps this is because they're seriously satisfied with clique dynamics and the "mean girls microcosm". More likely they're counting the days until they too get to toss their caps into the air and join everyone else on the long trail to mediocrity. We expect to leave high school when we graduate. I didn't sign on for four more years of it.
Some of this is doubtlessly my own fault. For all my pretty wordplay I certainly would expect an element of maturity of myself which doesn't appear present. I still care too much about what people think. I'm still shy around girls and I still get my feelings hurt way to easily. Oh. And I still fucking hate myself. For all the aforementioned reasons. For my uncanny ability to always be around (cause?) all the goddamned drama. And then I drink. Maybe it's my suicide. More likely it's satisfaction to my desperate need to feel loved.
I left LiveJournal to symbolize an end to the self-loathing, girl chasing diary entries ripped from the pages of a fucking Chbosky novel. Old habits die hard.
What do I need? I can't even wrap my tongue, or in absense of an ear to listen, my keyboard around an appropriate articulation. I need so badly someone to love. Someone to send flowers to for no good reason. Someone to go on chilly autumn walks with. Someone to give my jacket to when she shivers. Someone to drink hot chocolate and count stars with, to sit in silence for hours... speaking nothing and saying everything. Someone to hug and hold. To watch smile and to watch glow.
Someone to write love songs about.
But the more I think about it, the more conclusive I am that I am so undeserving of that. Of that love.
Everything here is so fucking unstable. One day someone is pissed. The next the offending party, distraught with the effects of its actions, tosses and turns wondering how to make well. And then it's like... everything is hunky fucking dorey except the hole in my heart because I lost sleep over you and you never needed me half as much as I still need you.
No one knows what my problem is, least of all myself.
Bomb the fucking Blogosphere,
Mike
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
The Longest Winter.
I wrote this bit of free-form prose in Bio class (naturally) and I swore that I wouldn't post it. But now I am. It doesn't really matter. We're each entitled to reflection on our histories, am I right? If someone reads this who was never supposed to, well, whatever. My experiences and my life are mine to share. With the internet. Hm. Yeah.
~*~
"The Longest Winter"
It's been the longest winter I can remember - not that it isn't completely and utterly self-imposed. I sit in my snowglobe and recall exactly what it was to be two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, sifting through all the shit the world has to offer and finding each other a breath, no, a violent gasp, for the drowning. Rewind two years and I'm sixteen and tragically poetic. She's two years my junior and beautiful in a way that can't be expressed in numbers or even in color - but rather in passion and in prose, in springtime and in song. She is unconventional in the most appealing way and her smile completes me. She is a tiny dancer and she is infinite. Radiant. She is the rock to my roll - my bumbling, baffled baffoonery. She is mine and I am so in love.
She stops me in the hallway and starts up and I'm all "maybe? Now? Ready? Foreign. How can I? What if I? I want want want so badly and yet yet yet yet yet... here? Please please please just kiss..." inside my head. Externally I am silent and it is so hard to find the words to express how desperately enraptured I am. She kisses me and everything I had read about fireworks and circles of stars exlode in surest understatement. The bell rings and we separate. For the rest of the day the smile never leaves my face and my feet don't once touch the ground.
Then somewhere I fuck up and am once again drowning.
I leave her in favor of some fairy tale dream which I chase and I chase and am forever eluded by, some oversimplified reflection of my horrific selfishness. Lost was everything we shared. the laughs, the literature, the magic, the film, the music. Oh, God. The music...
I hear "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" play over and over and over and over and yet... a feeling shared by kings and vagabonds both is a feeling I have felt and thrown away. She is beautiful and I am so so stupid.
I can't even come close to articulating how much I miss her. I miss her constant encouragement, laughter, passion, antiquity, tiny hands, powerful voice, funny glasses that she let me wear when she stole my sunglasses. I miss the jittery nervous feeling - the butterflies I got in the pit of my stomach when she signed online. I miss "Almost Famous" and "The Perks of Being a Wallflower". I miss her warmth, her kiss, her love. I miss her.
It's been the longest winter I can remember and there are monthes to go before I wake.
~*~
Yeah. Huh.
Bomb the Blogosphere,
Mike
~*~
"The Longest Winter"
It's been the longest winter I can remember - not that it isn't completely and utterly self-imposed. I sit in my snowglobe and recall exactly what it was to be two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, sifting through all the shit the world has to offer and finding each other a breath, no, a violent gasp, for the drowning. Rewind two years and I'm sixteen and tragically poetic. She's two years my junior and beautiful in a way that can't be expressed in numbers or even in color - but rather in passion and in prose, in springtime and in song. She is unconventional in the most appealing way and her smile completes me. She is a tiny dancer and she is infinite. Radiant. She is the rock to my roll - my bumbling, baffled baffoonery. She is mine and I am so in love.
She stops me in the hallway and starts up and I'm all "maybe? Now? Ready? Foreign. How can I? What if I? I want want want so badly and yet yet yet yet yet... here? Please please please just kiss..." inside my head. Externally I am silent and it is so hard to find the words to express how desperately enraptured I am. She kisses me and everything I had read about fireworks and circles of stars exlode in surest understatement. The bell rings and we separate. For the rest of the day the smile never leaves my face and my feet don't once touch the ground.
Then somewhere I fuck up and am once again drowning.
I leave her in favor of some fairy tale dream which I chase and I chase and am forever eluded by, some oversimplified reflection of my horrific selfishness. Lost was everything we shared. the laughs, the literature, the magic, the film, the music. Oh, God. The music...
I hear "Can You Feel the Love Tonight" play over and over and over and over and yet... a feeling shared by kings and vagabonds both is a feeling I have felt and thrown away. She is beautiful and I am so so stupid.
I can't even come close to articulating how much I miss her. I miss her constant encouragement, laughter, passion, antiquity, tiny hands, powerful voice, funny glasses that she let me wear when she stole my sunglasses. I miss the jittery nervous feeling - the butterflies I got in the pit of my stomach when she signed online. I miss "Almost Famous" and "The Perks of Being a Wallflower". I miss her warmth, her kiss, her love. I miss her.
It's been the longest winter I can remember and there are monthes to go before I wake.
~*~
Yeah. Huh.
Bomb the Blogosphere,
Mike
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