I'm half a step away from perfection, but it's a giant step.

I feel like i'm so close to finally breaking the bank on this whole dream job thing, but it's such a touchy final drive. I need to get definates, and i need to keep my head, my wits, and not get too ahead of myself.

The Flaming Lips always make me want to write, and write I shall, for the rest of my life, it seems.

Amen to that.

College is officially over. The year is starting without me, and i have no bearing on what the people do this year, the college, or anything that will go on there. It's nice to not have a part, but tough to leave people there, without you. It's a selfish thought to think, that the college can't possibly function without me, but it did before i went there, and it still will. This whole thing feels like i've already said it before.

In a way, I kind of like that. It means that i've finally settled on a feeling for this whole thing.

When you can't hear the sound that the keys make when you hit them, you notice the way they feel a lot more. They are smooth from years of work, dirty, you don't need to see them to know that they are off white; non-virginal. They've been pounded, said things they didn't want to, and been along for one hell of a ride. I've had the same keyboard since freshman year of college, i believe. This board has my markings on it, crude drawings and lines made with a sharpie and a pencil long ago. Where my palms rest, they've been worn away, and a slickness replaces them. There is a smiley face in the middle of the Microsoft logo, hidden, but with eyebrows. This keyboard has always really been special to me. For the longest time I didn't play an instrument, and I thought of this as my instrument. I knew the ins and outs of it, and I could make it do things that other people couldn't. Instead of notes and symphonies there were letters and words. It was a cocophony all my own. I could make it grand, discordant, everything. It empowered me. It is, and was, my prosthesis.

But now I play an instrument. The old keyboard has seen better days. The backspace is sticking, as well as the "a" and the "d" key. They only stick once in a blue moon, but it's enough sometimes. The "end" key is the filthiest of them all. In spite of some attempts to clean the board, it remains grimey. It is the least used key, and thus retains the filth of ages. 9 has a pretty good grime going, but "end" is just as it says, the end.

It's important to know your instrument. When you know that it's slowing down, you know that time has passed. When you know that time has passed, you realize that you need to move on. When you move on, you take the old instrument with you, to remind you of where you've been, and to help you get a grasp on where you're going. These are the scars of memory, the things that we always take with us wherever we go. These are the things that keep us grounded and sane.

"you have the most beautiful eyes"

-ccm

Gross intoxication leads to pontification over things that really should not matter.

So what is love? What is like? What is anything other than the biological urge to implant a femal with your seed? Does it matter what we feel, and if feelings have anything to do with it, do they matter? How easily they can be ignored and put on the wayside.

To move, and to where? Things are fine for me now, a job is not coming, but where do i go and what do i do? these are my main questions!

For a side note, i am farly intoxicated, as of the writing of this post.

How do you tell someone that you like them, and if you think about it, should you? What if you are firends with them, what if you entertain thoughts of being more than friends? What does it all really matter?

I mean, let's face it. In the life i lead, things are not going to come together. 9 out of 10 times. cash money.

I am hopeless at this love thing. those i love or like will never come to me, and i will be a great friend to them for that, always and forever, amen.

Meh, better than being nothing in life, and besides, i get used to the role, perpetually. It happens way to often. You'd be surprised.

I can do what i want when i want to, in spite of injury. huzzah.

The only thing I want most days of my life is someone to spend my life with. when you go from spending most nights with someone, even years removed, it is constantly hard to go back to sleeping alone. It never feels natural after you've been with someone.

I need to get over myself and my own life.

I need to sober up.

There is more debauchery waiting. There is a camping trip planned, and I am probably not walking away from it, or driving, I should say.

I will catch you later


-ccm

In the post industrial landscape that is my life, i've devised a few ways to occupy my time:

1) write scripts: admittedly slow on this, and it must be killing my compatriots

2) music: i'm trying to learn guitar, but a recent listening to wesley willis made me long for that outsider band i've always dreamed of

3) not doing anything.


yep. that's my recent life. I guess i drive, but that doesn't really count.

-ccm

"Home, it's where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there."
-Talking Heads

Been on a trip these past few days. The first stop, on Saturday, was Conn Coll. Bowling, drinking, debauchery ensued, and all was good in the world. I slept in an abandoned room with Manc and Tim, and it was a good time. The morning saw a breakfast provided by Rosie's and good company all around. This was immediately followed up by a trip to Westwood, MA to see some more friends. It was good to hang with Chris and Sarah, seeing the "Wedding Crashers". Movie was pretty okay, I think. It had so much more potential, but really it was just a few people trying to make a funny movie with a cookie cutter. Fun times though.

The real treat for me came right before the movie. After many long years, I have finally been to the Bad Art Museum. I don't know how I found out about it initially, but I had forgotten that it was located so close to many of my good friends. It thrilled me greatly to see all 12 of their pieces, and to live the dream. Bad art is here to stay. Well, not here. It's actually located underneath a theater. A movie theater. The theater's men's room is actually part of the art museaum, with the privacy partition acting as a surface where on can post a painting. The bad art was bad. My personal favorite may be "Pablo Elvis"; a latino interpretation of Elvis, done very poorly. There were some other pictures that weren't that bad, but just lacked any sort of "oompf", if that makes sense. Still, it was a sight to behold.

After living the dream and the movie Chris and I had some talks about PoMo, writing, and creating something awesome. We're bouncing some scripts back and forth, and have this crazy scheme to write a play to be shown in a playhouse. Start building a name for ourselves and laying the groundwork for a future in creativity.

On an interesting note, I slept in my car last night. I was too tired to drive all the way home from MA, and it was 3 am, so I used my student ID to get on campus and just set up shop in the car. Wasn't bad. The sleeping bag helped a lot. This set off a day of vagrancy. That morning I woke up and ate a bagel on a pier. This was followed by going to Goodwill, and then finally with tagging along while my friend Ryan gave a tour. After a lunch I took a shower, changed my clothes, and in a few minutes, will shave. The transformation will be complete, and I will go from vagrant to...me.

RAW tonight. Set your VCRs. You won't be able to see me. But by god, it'll be a good time. Plus it's at Mohegan Sun, so gambling may occur.

That's never a good way to end a post.

peace

-ccm