Paper Fancies

Memories.

2009-10-22T20:45:00.002-05:00

I hate to bitch. I also love to bitch.

I can't believe I presented myself in a more dignified, outgoing manner two years ago than I do now.

Is this regression?

Let's reminesce.

It always makes me feel better.

I found my old photobucket album. The one I normally use is for uploading html buttons, art, temporary images, etc.

This one is for memories.

Thanksgiving, two years ago I think. I remember the overall mood that pervaded part of the day, the "eating together and being thankful" part, was extremely awkward. Though only my mother's side of the family was in attendance...

ANYWAY. This is Jessica, Willy and I, enjoying the rare good weather. A good memory.

Out of all of the people I've met throughout my life, and all of the people I've befriended,

shit... Jessica was and still is the most important.

Fuck. No homo, we're related.

ACL 2007! First REAL Austin adventure.

The ride there was beautiful. Hill country here is so calming; if I had to stay in texas, that's where I'd be.

But everyone says that.

I showed up in a button up long sleeved shirt and jeans. Seriously, I never plan ahead.

Rushed to Ben Kweller's stage an hour before he began, because apparently people flock to these things like four hours before the show. I didn't know. Though, being an ass, I slinked my way as close to the stage as I could. It was awesome. Later on I picked up a shirt with an illustration of his famous nosebleed of '06. It didn't fit, so I pinned it to my wall.

Deidra and I playing with the Canon I got for christmas two years ago. She's so impatient, I couldn't get a good shot. Maybe it was because I was bullying her into taking pictures with me.

Normally I hate being in pictures on purpose, but I was excited.

For some reason, my dad has the camera in safekeeping.

Also I have the flu?

UPDATE

2009-10-15T21:33:00.000-05:00

Holy fuck.

LOOK HERE

A year ago, today.

2009-10-15T19:39:00.003-05:00

I was in the same place,

but less diluted.

I really need to pull myself up by my bootstraps.

So I'm using this again, because I'm supposed to write.

I stopped.

Let's do it the same way. With photographs.

I think this was some time in March. I was at my cigarette peak. For some reason I started to rapidly lose weight.

I went to the doctor thinking I had cancer... they told me it was no big deal.

It was the cigarettes.

So I went to college for four days before I left.

In the back of my mind, I knew what was going

to happen.

And it did.

So here I am.

Don't think I'm not dissapointed in myself.

Oh btw. I re-read my old posts, here are some answers:

Tinkles was put down last year, September 19.

My old counselor tossed me aside after she decided my diagnosis, which was incorrect.

Detlef is a big cat now, and I love him just as much as I did when he was a kitten.

I stopped thinking.

Res pls.

2008-10-31T05:58:00.002-06:00

I don't know why I haven't used this. Maybe it's because I know people will see my shit on MySpace. This will be for more personal writings, or more pointless ones.

Nothing comes to mind now, except this:

S L O W L Y D O W N W A R D

Visit the library there.

Inspirational stuff.

I feel like people are getting tired of me.

2008-07-07T11:38:00.000-05:00

I hurt.

Home?

2008-07-06T15:13:00.003-05:00

There is no material, tangible, concrete home.

Home is everywhere, or nowhere, if you like.

Home is your mind.

You decide what it is.

For me, there is no worldly home. I'm sure it's nothing now.

Home is in my mind, your mind.

That isn't necessarily a good or bad thing,

it just depends on what sort of mind you have.

What's in it. What's there.

My mind home isn't very cozy right now.

Just a thought, a stupid revelation.

Number Four

2008-07-05T23:03:00.002-05:00

has blessed me with insomnia and irritability.

I've been whining to everyone about my shit lately. I'm sorry. It's so hard to deal with, I'm fed up.

My dog is dying. She's nine, and she lived a good and happy life, I think maybe it's time for her to go.

And when she does, I'll be in ruins.

But I understand.

Oh! Sweet Nuthin'.

2008-06-30T09:47:00.001-05:00

Nobody wants me to hit my head on shit.

I oh my God.

Fuck fuckufkcufkufkc

Poultice Prayer.

2008-06-27T22:39:00.004-05:00

She whispers her orison
and rubs it to the temples
sweet jade ablution
for a saturnine will.
An earnest endeavor,
an endeavor lost.

Floaty.

2008-05-22T14:16:00.002-05:00

Hmm.

Went to my counselor yesterday. She's great. Told me I was "in limbo" until the test results came in from the psychologist, which are very long and in depth , says she. Until then, I'm waiting.

I am also homebound. Haha, so late in the year. Shitloads of work, shitloads of appointments, shitloads of shit.

I've got to draw a still life for my final exam in art. I'm thinking the toilet will be my subject. Doesn't go anywhere, so I can draw it.

I was supposed to go to the dentist today to get five fillings, but no one came to get me... it's a good day today. I really hope no one mystically shows up to deliver me there. Christ.

You know those thoughts you get when you're trying to sleep and you've got a fever? All racing and stumbling and mutating before you can catch up to them, and they disturb you kind of, but they'd sure as hell be good artwork or inspiration for anything like that. Those kind. I have those sometimes. Can't ever remember them, that's what sucks about them.

Whatever.

Some shit

2008-05-19T18:11:00.003-05:00

I will complain and stuff here now.

I got a cat. His name is Detlef, but naturally, I call him kitty. He's a terrible man-eater; my hands are raw and bloody and scarred from playtime. He also likes to fuck with my shit and eat my bamboo plant, and walk on my keyboard.
But! He defecates, urinates, and plays in his litterbox and sleeps in his designated place, which is wherever I say.

Also I went to a psychologist last week for diagnostic purposes. The results of the five hours of testing will tell me exactly what the fuck is wrong with me, and maybe it'll have some interesting little personality trait thing, like the online surveys. The whole thing was pretty difficult, made school look like kindergarten.

Got a new counselor, too.
She's nice, I like her better than my old one. The counselor I had before irritated me. I don't know why. She smiled too much and too big, and her teeth were white. Fakey white plastic smile. Maybe that's what got me. The new one is real, like, real. Motherly like, I suppose.

I was wondering how high up tiny birds can fly. You know, like hummingbirds and chickadees, and the other assorted cute fluffy ones. Doesn't seem like they'd be able to make it up there with the vultures. I dunno. I like the chickadees, though.
The big office building where my psychiatrist is has some windows. The good kind, huge corner-wall windows, big so you can see the sky and everything. One's got a tree right by it, and an open stairwell thing right there. I like to wait out there by the window. There's always birds in the tree there. Last time I saw two doves huddled together keeping warm. But mostly I stay out there to stay away from the disordered folk in the cramped waiting room.

Fluorescent lights are terrible. I know they're more power efficient than tungtsen light, but the light is cold and hard and has no mood. No mood, you know. Not like sunrise or candles or light from a window. Fluorescent lights are headaches. They're bad doctors.

I saw a number of highway victims today. One was a kitten, right at an intersection, at the stoplight. Another one was questionable; I couldn't tell if it was an opossum or some sort of chickeny bird. The other was so mangled and flat, I dunno what it was. It had fur.

It's worse now than it's been. It's hard to do anything. Walking, even. I get out of breath walking down hallways. I'm hoping that's a side effect of some medication. Enjoyment is nearly out of the question. I can't draw or take photographs or read even. Eating is a chore. I'm not on the road to anorexia, mind you. I just can't enjoy one of the most primal enjoyable things, you know. I don't mind it much, though. I don't care anymore. The ceiling fan isn't too bad to stare at, and there's a nice big lived-in indention on my carpet where I lie. Medication isn't that bad. It's a double-edged sword, though. You can sleep a lot and relax, and your mind is okay. Okay like a stagnant pond. Nothing much happens there. But sometimes shit goes down. Bad shit, myriads of bad shits like a first grader with gastroenteritis. The one thing I can still do is go outside and sit. I sit and listen and look. It's wonderful. Outside is the best place to be.

I don't know what to think of people anymore. People in general, I mean. I'd like to think everyone's good, but I know better. I know, but I don't want to. Anyone can turn around and do something you'd never think when you least expect it. It hurts. Even if it's someone(s)(haha) I don't even know or associate with, it hurts. I know I do the same as everyone else. I'm just too naive and innocent, I suppose. Maybe in time I'll stop thinking about it. Maybe in time I'll stop thinking. Maybe in time I'll be the same and life will be miserable. Maybe, in time, I'll be happy.

I've a terrible fear of dentistry. My new dentist office place is pretty cool, the staff is full of nice understanding people, and the big dentist is easy going. Plus they have nice decorations and smelly-good soap. Last time I visited was a sort of evaluation: they were testing me, finding out what kind of patient I was going to be, how they'd have to deal with me. Halfway through the procedure I sort of came to (they used the gas on me, I need it) and said, "Where'd the gas go?" He said he'd turned it down a little. They finished a tooth and he talked to my mother for a minute, and I was done. We were in the car and she told me he'd stopped because I realised he turned off the gas; usually patients are unaware and he can go on.
Bitches can't fool me.

This happened to me the other day:

"Derealisation (DR) is an alteration in the perception or experience of the external world so that it seems strange or unreal.

The detachment of derealization can be described as an immaterial substance that separates a person from the outside world, such as a sensory fog, a pane of glass, or a veil. Individuals may complain what they see lacks vividness and emotional colouring. Emotional response to visual recognition of loved ones may be significantly reduced. Feelings of deja vu or jamais vu are common. Familiar places may look alien, bizarre, and surreal. Such perceptual abnormalitites may also extend to the senses of hearing, taste, and smell.

Another symptom of this condition can be the constant worrying or strange thoughts that people find hard to switch off. Derealization builds up slowly with the underlying anxiety, but shows itself suddenly, often after a panic attack, and is then difficult or impossible to ignore until the sufferer receives treatment. This type of anxiety can be crippling to the sufferer and may lead to avoidance behaviour."

That's all I can think of to complain about now.

Bluebird Lullabies

2008-05-10T12:00:00.003-05:00

I'm starting this over.

All photos and art will go to my Flickr account - here.

All random things will go to myspace.

This is strictly for my thoughts, ideas, links, you know.

Bluebird Lullabies just sounds good to me... for something.