There was a point in my life, not too long ago, that I wrote:

It's acually hitting me, that after college I'm not going to just have a job, or a major breakthrough. I'm just going to be out there looking for a job with health insurance.

It seems like I might just graduate college, owe a ton of debt, and live in my parents basement.

Honestly. Where do I go from here?

What should I be doing?

But now I'm not like that. Why? I don't know. I don't like to think about it. Infact, in general, when it comes to considering my life and the nature of existence--I rather not care.

Sure, at my core is this ravaging hunger for information about the world (I'm obsessed with the news), but when it comes down to what is really important--when it comes down to what really matters--when all is said and done and at the end of the day the sum of all events form up in a little ball of energy--What matters is ME. Me, me, me.

And thinking about myself bothers me. So, to please myself I don't think about my future. I rather not consider it. It doesn't matter one bit. Pleasure over pain, my friends. Screw reality, live in hedonism. Pick good feelings over bad feelings... let things feel good and... ignorance is...

Fuck it. I won't lie. I'm scared shitless.

And I hate ignorant people.


Does all this make sense? No? That bothers me becuase I wanted to please you to make MYSELF feel better.

Until next entry--

Yours forever,

ME

Normal People

Yesterday was fucked up.

For some reason, somehow, I got a group of people to write thier angry confessions, secrets, or philosophies into my notebook and give it back to me.

I told them that I wouldn't share it with anyone and it was OK for them to do this, becuase "I'm a writer."

I expected some whimsical shit, maybe a little sexy blurb. But after I passed out the notebook things got intense. We were drinking and music was playing and all this emotional shit hit the fan.

A guy and girl insulted eachother non-stop (and it was obvious they would be sleeping together that night). Two people of questionable relationship status (whose your girlfriend again?) were doing it in the next room. And everyone seemed pretty receptive to acually letting out what was inside of them. On top of that there was a pet parrot loose in the appartment that kept screaming "hello!"

I ended up with a notebook filled with things... I shouldn't have. There aren't names on most of the entries, but I bet I could figure out who wrote what. But I don't really want to.

I'll keep my word and keep it secret, but the things written make me realize that everyone there was as fucked up as the next.

By the way: parrots really do chill on shoulders, so when you see a peg legged captain and his parrot, know that his parrot was a normal parrot. Parrot. Parrot. Parrot. I think I'll name my child that.

The most important post in this blog!

Hey look-- its the first post.

Here I should say:

"This blog is going to be about ----- and my ----- with -----"

or

"I'm just trying this thing out, my name is -----"

But I'm going to cut to the point and say that the first post has no point. I'm probablly wrong.