I am a writer A writer of fictions

I like being able to put on a pair of jeans, fresh from the dryer, without struggle to button them. This is pretty cool.

Haven’t been able to concentrate on the 190 countries and their capitols I have to memorize for tomorrow, or the supply and demand lawas/comparative advantage that I also have to memorize. 2 MIDTERMS?!?!?

And you want to know why??? Hmmmm? You want to see my demise, it’s so terrible yet so amazing. Absolutely horrific that it has me so entranced. And I just can’t stop singing and dancing. And now it’s my ringtone for when Sara calls me, ‘cause for some bizarre but still incredibly platonic reason it’s our song. This and “Total Eclipse Of The Heart.”



I’m a terrible human. I’m so weak.

edit because I love Pete singing. And I wake up to it every morning now that this is my other new ringtone. OMG Mmmmmmmmm John in tight jeans and a leather jacket. Pete too... Omnomnom.



Edit2
My cousin was on a rant about how boys are horny. And I started laughing mouthing "I told you so" since she was on the phone with her friend about some guy. And I kept bugging her mouthing "I told you so" every time she mentioned a different guy she deemed a horn ball. And finally she got fed up (and knowing my love of Pete) responded back with "So is Pete! He watches porn. Pete; Porn."

And of course I took that as Peteporn. Mmmm... Uh, anyways... I love Sara. Now we are both in better moods.

So because I am terribly bored and really procrastinating on studying, I decided to post up some pictures from my trip to LA/Hollywood. I really didn't take too many pictures this time. I decided to take this trip for myself, and in the end... With myself.

( Pictures of Friday - unfortunately not Lily )

( Now the important pictures. The records I bought at Amoeba. )

RIP Keith Moon. 30 years ago today, you left a void in our hearts and musical passion that we will never ever be able to fill. I'm sure you're partying how you always dreamed and playing amazing music with the likes of Entwistle, and all those other amazing artists at the great gig in the sky. Heaven is just the next after party anyways, right?

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So I'm re-watching VH1 Rock Honors (as I do since they play it oh-so-much and it has amazing Keith and John goodness, let alone Pete and Roger goodness), and I have re-found my love for Pearl Jam.

Dude, really...  The cover of Love Reign O'er Me was absolutely brilliant, and who the hell doesn't love The Real Me.  Although one of the guitarist was like, doing the spinning and butt shaking that makes me love Townshend, and it was done for mediocrely.  I'm somewhat upset, because if you're going to emulate such a stage presence, don't half ass it.
That's why my vision and love for Entwistle has yet to be tainted, because you can't really ruin a stoic train.  Although the guy from Flaming Lips (?) couldn't pull off the skeleton suit.  Hahaa.  Loser.

Tonight is Break The Silence, and I haven't really seen anyone from One Imagination for a while.  It's probably been a little over a week, but it seems like a long time.

I should leave, before my mom randomly comes home early and sees me unpacked, in my work out clothes drinking a coke.  I gave into to the chemical goodness while fixing my hair and it was so worth it.

I've been thinking about Daniel.  Not as much as I had been, but whenever I hear anything from The Who (which is a frequent part of my day) or whenever I see basses and spiders.  I sent Boris (his bass) back to his mom, and though I know it was never mine to keep, it hurt shipping it to her.  Still, she bought it, and painted it just for him; and to give something to a mother that was the most important thing to her son seems to be the right thing to do.

I know that even if tonight happens to be a full Open Mic, I doubt I'll read at it.  I still feel very anti-audience at the moment, and to go up there just to have people roll their eyes at me is pointless.  I can stand in front of a mirror and read poetry to myself while rolling my eyes.  At least I'd be genuine to myself.  No protocol applause afterwards.  I know I suck xDDDDD

I crave the creative. I long for the passionate, articulate, indepent thinking force that has yet to touch my life. Someone that can leave me awestruck by the simple beauty of each word threaded together displaying a chain of inspiration that could have only come from their mind. Someone who continuously seems to be the mirage to my dreams. I may never quite know if they exist... But the journey to them - with them - can only be deemed a hallucination; so unreal. I miss the unpredictable.

I have had many less-then-mediocre minds and my share of the uninspired. Men that were too apathetic. Or worse... Indifferent.

I crave the creative. Yet i've never truly found those that write, paint, draw, make music... Entities that create with every breathe and waking moment. I know I am explaining an extreme, but I guess when you've deemed something so foreign and distant, you think of the extremes that are known to you - while simply understanding the lows - the neutral zones. Knowing they're there. But they're never part of the fantasy. They don't have to be, because it - in fact - is the fantasy. Possibly I am watching High Fidelity too much, but it's like with women. The fantasy of one never contains arguments, ugly moments, and thread-bare over washed cotton panties that may possibly do less than allure you to the image in your mind.

Or it's simply too early for me to comprehend what I've been typing.

It's not so much that I crave the creative. I miss the creative.

I miss simple notes and letters. Texts. The idea someone was inspired enough by you to sacrifice and put time and energy into finding a way to express their thoughts about you. I guess I had that, and I can't be picky.

I miss songs (though I never heard one about me, just guitarists using other's words and works to say how they feel, which I deemed close enough).

Maybe if I never started something with Richard - bringing it to it's terrible ending that I did on Sunday - I wouldn't be on my couch complaining of what I don't have for now. This quality, force, and mind set isn't found in only one person, and with the multitude of mediums out there - what's the point of settling for one? I guess the time with him lacked any original thought. Any extra thought. Any creative thought.

Now I feel as though I can search. It feels like I've left the pond of suits, ties, and terrible Fox News for the sea of artists, writers, musicians, political thinkers, and the basic unknown that creates simple shivers at the base of your spine, because it's simply, the unknown. This whole thing is probably me trying to explain - in that early morning way - the reason I look to older musicians, ignoring worn-aged-drug damaged physiques of today, to listen to glory day stories and events of their peak years. Entranced by tales, music, and passion for their trade - their medium - something I either have never looked for in younger men, or simply never believed existed.

A cup of coffee will wake me up enough to go back to this and think "What the fuck?" rewriting this or simply deleting it. (8:30 am)

(4:22 pm)
I should stop watching old documentaries on The Who. xD