Her name was Angie. His name was John, I think. I don't remember for sure, but I think it was John, short for something else, just like my name isn't really John.

(It's George.)

Anyway, some back story on Angie. She was abused before. But that was all in the past. Now she lived in a very small but nice efficiency in Georgetown with John. She was an art director at an ad agency even though she was just now getting around to getting graduate classes in art. She simply had the knack for it, she was one of the global teens that cool hunters lusted after and through her branded contacts she made her way into her current position. But it was just a temporary thing, always was, in her mind. It just keeps her in enough $$ to be able to live and go to school in the city. As soon as she got her PhD in art, she was taking a position teaching and living simply for the rest of her life. She would take what she knew about the Machine and use it to destroy it. Little by little.

Now that's all in the past.

In the past, when she was 13, in semi-rural Maryland, her father led her into their small barn at the edge of their property. He threw her down onto a pile of hay bigger than she was and grabbed her crotch. She lay there at a 45 on the side of that pile of hay in complete shock and horror, frozen in the look of this man that at once was and most definately was not her father. His eyes were glassed over, two blue pearls devoid of life, at least of his life, like someone or something else was looking through the sockets. He had a strange grin on his face. While his left hand rubbed her crotch, rapidly over her clothes, the other rubbed his own. When he went for his pant's fly, she snapped out of her paralysis and pushed his hand away from her. He tried to grab her by the shoulder, but with only one hand free at this point, the other dug deep into his own shorts, he was unable to keep her from running away to the house. What she doesn't know is that he proceeded to jerk off, shooting his load onto the haystack; then he cried, he balled and whispered "I'm sorry" over and over to himself; then he fell asleep. All she knows is she never spoke about it, he never spoke about it, they exchanged strange, worried, unknown looks that night; and their relationship was never the same again. He and her mother are still alive, living the typical retired life; Angie mostly speaks with her mother; her father doesn't speak to much of anyone anymore.

But that was all in the past. Was.

TO ANYBODY WHO ISN'T SHOUTING

There's no need to tell you how we got started talking, or how it is they told me their entire story. There's hardly any need to change voice. I'll just convey the story as I heard it. Like you were sitting there in jail for the weekend, sans camera, and happened to meet these two beautiful terrible souls. And chat it up.

Because you know I'm not a chatty person. You know I didn't pry. You know I just wanted to mind my own damn business. But there was something deeper connecting us, and we ended up connecting, communicating.

Fuck you.

In history, you only get famous by doing great things. For most people that means killing as many people as possible. Want to be famous? Do some old fashioned serial killing. Kill people, drill holes in their heads and pour in Drano, have sex with their body parts, keep said parts in your freezer for later. Or drive around in a van and shoot people from a distance. Do whatever it is your do for as long as you can without getting caught; but the important thing is to get caught. Get caught and spend the next year in front of the cameras. Your face remembered by all. Your name in the history books of our age...New York Times, Washington Post, Newsweek, US Fucking News and World Fucking Report. If you're really lucky you'll get a hip write up in GQ or Maxim. The Poor Little Misunderstood Serial Killer.

This is what's important. The killing, the getting killed, that's just the means to an end. Read your self help. Read your Stephen R. Covey. Read your 7 Habits of Highly Successful People. Begin With The End In Mind.

Then read 7 Habits of Highly Successful Christians.

Then read 7 Habits of Highly Successful Husbands.

Then read 7 Habits of Highly Successful Spousal Abusers.

Read 7 Habits of Highly Successful Psychotics.

Read 7 Habit of Highly Successful Killers.

They'll all tell you the same damn thing: Begin With The End In Fucking Mind Asshole.

Fame.

Some people get famous doing sports or music; but most of the time that's not good enough; they need to kill their wives or themselves and then they'll be properly remembered by the rest of us.

That's the only imortality we can be sure of.

Even Jesus Himself wasn't famous. He had to die and then his estate had to sign with a really good agent, Paul. Paul was the Spin Doctor for Jesus. He'd already killed a lot of people, so he had that going for him, too. Eventually, Paul got tired just representing God all the time, so he decided to get himself killed so that he himself would be properly remembered. Followers are always trying to one-up their leaders. So God had to sign a new agent, Constantine.

I say all this in order to say that nobody ever remembers the victims. These new friends of mine? You'll read their story and tomorrow you'll forget them. You'll be busy with buying your Newsweek; you'll wake up with CNN on, an ad for NASDAQ reminding you that you're not rich enough yet or smart enough yet and by God definately not beautiful enough yet. You'll be busy choosing between your healthy and your unhealthy cereal for breakfast. You'll be busy scheduling the rest of your day so that you can work out and burn off that unhealthy cereal. You'll have your head down, chin to chest, poking that little silver electronic tablet with that little plastic leadless pencil, squigling little lines that turn into D-no-fuck-I-meant-B-no-fuck-not-P.

See how easy it was to forget them?

Name the last victim your remember. What was his-or-her name?

No, not you, you pathetic fuck.

Go back to your handheld meta-widget, you victim.

Don't bother listening.

I don't know why I even retell this story.

Nobody listens anymore.

Homeland Security Cultural Bureau

Don't believe what you've heard. This is for real. This is really happening. This ain't the movies. This ain't satire. This is real life.

Guy and girl not alright. Not alright at all. Scratched and bleeding and frowning deeply. Woman shaking. Man spitting like crazy, making a little puddle between his legs, forcefully blowing the saliva and flem from his mouth, which is situated between his knees as he sits curled up like one of those one-in-a-million african wood carvings you can buy at the street fair for $20.

Auras in the negative. Not dark auras, but an absence. Like black holes. Like how we call them black holes because they are the absence of matter, but really they are sucking all matter into them because they are so needy.

Not at all like the US is a black hole, sucking all the worlds energy and culture and food and blood and land and wood and water and oil and love and hate and contempt into itself, just like the Greeks, Romans, and Ottomans did before us.

And not really like white means light and blackness means darkness which means the absence of light. I'm hearing an evangelist somewhere, right now, once every 8 seconds in this country, statistically, saying "like when a room is in darkness and when you flip on the lightswitch the light drives all the darkness out." And right now, once every alternate 8 seconds, someone is thinking, "yeah but that makes a lot of shadows." Unless it's an empty room.

But very much how lightness isn't very light and darkness very dark to a fly that sees through ultraviolet eyes or a bat that sees through sonar eyes or even a dog who sees through black and white eyes but has a nose that can triangulate the location of any object based on its odor.

Blameless, pure need. Blameless, pure darkness. Darkness that is automatically, karmically redeemed, but that is always going to have to be paid for.

No payments or interest for 90 days. As if, if you don't die within those 90 days, it makes any difference.

Jesus paid for someone's sins against you on the cross, but you are going to be paying for them for the rest of your life.

Victims.

Disgrace at Freedom Plaza
By Shawna Bader, AlterNet
October 4, 2002

Last Friday morning, I was illegally arrested along with more than 600 others, the vast majority of whom had committed absolutely no illegal act and had not planned on being arrested...

When Egyptians and Jordanians get arrested in their countries by the hundreds simply for peacefully demonstrating in support of the Intifada or against their governments' relationships with the U.S., doesn't the State Department human rights report cite that as examples of civil rights and free speech violations? (It does, I've read it). What's the difference between them and us?

I've given you the bread now go read the meat!

Also, add AlterNet to your daily favorites...

First, my experience:

On bus. People talking, laughing, still shouting. Cops come on bus and shout back. Silence. Quiet. People start whispering to each other.

Ride on bus. Not from this city. No clue where we're going. Could be headed for South Carolina for all I know. Quantico. Join the other terrorists detained without cause.

Go through gates. Big bump. Pull up next to some building. File off bus. Lots of cops. Some normally uniformed. Some the storm troopers. Lots of chaos. Caffeine wearing off. Headache beginning. Led in line through some hallways, filed into big room. Pits grabbed. Tits felt. Pants reached down. Crotch grabbed. Thighs hit. Calves slapped. Pants legs pulled up a bit, boots looked at.

Filed into another room. Oh. This is a cell. Twenty of us in here. Twenty next door. Ad infinitum.

Slouch into corner. Talking begins again in earnest. All about this morning. All about injustice and lawsuits and pigs and power and money and in general just really pissed off.

Time passes. Unaware of such. Head still pounding. Guy and girl let into cell and end up sitting next to me against wall opposite cell door.

http://www.davidcogswell.com/Political/BiPolarBush.html

--- BOO HAA ---
http://dc.indymedia.org/
--- LOOKY HERE ---

http://sept.globalizethis.org/

http://www.a16.org/

http://www.infoshop.org/octo/thebigone.html

Well, I guess I'll skip the bit where a LOT of us people, some of us with the signs and the big mouths, some of us just hanging about, got the ever living shit beat out of us by riot shields and very large night sticks, got zip-tie handcuffs (some feetcuffs, too), and filed into buses for a trip "downtown." My camera was kicked about 20 feet by some overweight white-boy-in-blue-with-aforementioned-big-stick-and-zip-ties, and I haven't seen it since. PROPERTY OF THE CITY OF WASHINGTON, DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA. I suppose. I'm pretty pissed about that, and I'm quite sure I'll never get a penny in return. So $500 and a weekend down the tube for standing in the street with a bunch of other people standing in the street. Great.

But soon I'm going to have to switch to second person, because I have to re-tell these two (similar) stories I heard in here. But first I have to tell you what happened between getting carted onto a Metro bus and being in this cell with these people, specifically this one guy and this one girl, and hearing these stories. Just cuz.

get your war on



gywo #15

The Onion

UNITED NATIONS—In an address before the U.N. General Assembly Monday, President Bush called upon the international community to support his "U.S. Does Whatever It Wants" plan, which would permit the U.S. to take any action it wishes anywhere in the world at any time.

Anyway, these anarchists, the angry looking ones, they had stones in their hands and were lighting some kind of not-really-smokey-or-stinky-or-even-explosive thingies, but not really ever hurling them, moreso just dropping them and kicking them around. They were also the group yelling the most "fuck"s. "Fuck you pigs" or something like that, I think. Anyway, fine by me.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Gratuitous fucking Fuck.

But mostly they were off to the side. The "real" activists and the police were the ones that were now really doing the mexican standoff, about ten feet between them, the activists in their sweatsuits, hooded shirts from 1972 last washed in 1982, dreadlocks, some of them closer to Japanese chic, some of them with digital cameras, trying to get the whole thing on tape, some of them with signs, "Gates has the bomb," "We don't need an enemy," "World bank was made to fuck you." I might be making some of these up but they're pretty close. "Bush: so many bombs, so few countries to lob them at," "Cheney: Enron pensioners one day, impovrished arabs the next." Etc., etc., etc.

The cops in super Doom rage gear. Like the video game where somehow you are able to carry 10 gigantic weapons of mass destruction (not to steal that phrase or anything), plus super armor and a shield and a helmet and a radio and a GPS and a supercomputer and a battering ram and a canteen and a and a and a and a and a really bad fucking attitude and a need to enforce something anything just give me something to fucking hit will you!

Then a couple rocks were lofted up over the protestors and in the general direction of the badasspolice. I think I saw one bounce off a riot helmet. Kinda like a superball you dropped from the balcony as a kid.

Euw. Bad news.

The cops moved to within a couple feet of the protestors (by the way, just to give you some perspective, I'm like in the far corner of the crowd, conveniently at a place where I can see just about everything). The tension in the air is like frozen butter. You couldn't even cut it with a knife.

Then, all of a sudden, and I didn't see anything flying through the air, this window right by the crowd of cops breaks! One smaller window completely shatters, and another gets a huge spider-crack going all the way up its story-height. I'm like "whatthe?" when the cops storm forward, shoving the first row of protestors to the ground with their riot shields.

I went down to DC to see a couple friends, and admittedly to see the protests, maybe raise my fists once or twice and yell "hey hey" and "no way" and "fuck" and all that. I moseyed on downtown from Virginia sometime in the morning, just naturally after I woke up and got some caffeine in my veins. I grabbed my camera, made sure I didn't have any brand-name clothing on...see, I'm not what you would call a big conscious kinda guy. It takes a lot of work to pull non-brand-name clothes from my warddrobe.

It's not so much that I don't have a conscience, or don't realize what's going on. It's more that the brands are working. They work every day to dull your senses, kill brain cells, offer you less choices. The capitalists are working, and their plans work. They compete against not only each other, but against you, against all the you's out there in the world. Against the world itself. Between the media and the marketers--and who can really tell them apart?--there is no time to think for yourself, to be by yourself, or to even listen to yourself. Or even to nothing.

So even if I had the opportunity to have a choice, which would be a lot of work to locate anyway, to even muster the will to take it would be an effort of huge proportions. When I need caffeine bad...let's just take that one for example, because when I need it I need it or I will suffer in all areas, let's face it...when I need coffee like a need a breath of air, and all that I can see is Star-fucking-bucks, then star-fucking-bucks it is going to be, child labor in Latin America be damned. And as the green mindmeld of medusa takes hold, as that first bittersweet rich warm fluid runs over my tongue, I can even be known to have the thought, "What kid wouldn't like to be outdoors enjoying the warm sun and puffy white clouds, anyway?"

It's not that I'm ignorant. It's just that when I can't find that one-out-of-one-thousand pair of jeans that wasn't made by $10/week preteen Asians, I end up with the gawd dawn cheap ass Gap copies from the outlet store. BESIDES, with my fucking McJob, I can't afford any better.

So I made it down on foot and the Metro in my unbranded threads to the area where things were supposed to be happening. There were a bunch of homeless-gutter-punk looking kids...oh wait! those are the activists! Right. Let's see what's shakin'.

Already, before I saw the gutter-punks-I-mean-protesters, I had noticed the unusual number of cops. Now cops can make a straight guy nervous, but I've been known to break a law or two in my day--I mean, this isn't my first time in jail--and to be frank, I hate fucking pigs. I hate to generalize, but most of them are power-hungry-small-dick-big-truck-big-gun-blonde-girl-all-fucking-American-or-at-least-they-think-so-especially-after-they-bought-a-flag-sticker-for-said-big-fucking-truck-on-September-TWELVE-2001-for-God's-sake assholes. Most of them. Like I said I hate to generalize. Some of them are the black-I-mean-African-American equivilant of the same.

So the cops were makin' me a bit nervous to begin with.

And the fringe anarchists at the edge of this mass of protesters didn't help either. They looked like the permently pissed off kind. Drunk off utopian philosophy, druggies on their intelectual superiority.

And not to change the subject, but isn't it crazy how ever since Freud, there's been three generations, so it is actually possible to inherit an oral fixation from your grandfather, anal retentiveness from your father, and have major phallic concerns all your own.

I'm in jail.

Today I went to DC to stand around with a few hundred of my favorite friends and try to communicate a little that there are a lot of suffering people all over the world who are being made to suffer by the greed of western capitalists and the ignorance of those who would feed that greed with their consumption.

Now I'm in jail.

Apparently, walking in the street is now against the law in the U S of fucking A.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/2285063.stm

http://www.cnn.com/2002/US/South/09/27/imf.protests/index.html









ACC Response to Friday's Events
At 1:00 pm on Friday, Sept 27, organizers from the Anti-Capitalist Convergence held a press conference in downtown DC, to discuss the day's actions.

We are disheartened by the violence which was perpetrated today by the police. Hundreds of people were arrested for doing nothing more than expressing their political beliefs using legal, nonviolent forms of protest and civil disobedience. Protesters and onlookers were shoved, beaten, and pepper sprayed by the police, who seemed determined to prove their "control" of the situation by hurting innocent people.

We cannot let our freedom to dissent be taken away, and we will not stop speaking out until we live in a world where everyone is free from exploitation and oppression, a world where one's survival and access to human needs aren't determined by one's economic means.

The antichrist is most definately a christian....a blessed one at that...

http://www.abolishthebank.org/en/index.html

bush_speach.mp3

http://www.lemonbovril.co.uk/bushspeech/

the plastic-surgery-obsessed woman gets gastric-bypass surgery despite the fact she's already underweight and dies of starvation three weeks later

got a blowjob from a chain-smoking prostitute downtown and every time he pees now he can smell the ashtray

WHAT R U LOOKIN @ MUTHERFAWKER?

     D
    D          o o
  D DD       { }
O|_|_|_ =--- +

just.more.archiving:

Big Eyed Fish
dave matthews band

Story of a man
Who decided not to breath
Turned red, purple, then blue
Colorful indeed
No matter how his friends begged
Well, he would not concede
And now he's dead
You see, 'cause everybody knows
You got to breathe

But, oh God,
Under the weight of life
Things seem brighter on the other side...
Lighter on the other side...

Another one:
See this monkey sitting in his tree
One day, decided to climb down
And run off to the city
Look at him now
Tired, and drunk
And living in the street
As good as dead
You see, a monkey should know
Stay up your tree

But, oh God,
Under the weight of life
Things seem brighter on the other side
Oh God,
But under the weight of life
Things seem much lighter on the other side

No way...
No way...
No way...
Out...
Of here...

Another one:
A Big Eyed Fish
Yeah, swimming in the sea
Oh, how he dreamed
He wants to be a bird
Swooping, diving through the breeze
One day
He caught a big blue wave
Up onto the beach
And now he's dead
You see, a fish's dream
Should stay in the sea

But, oh God,
Under the weight of life
Things seem brighter on the other side
Oh God,
But under the weight of life
Things seem brighter on the other side

No way...
No way...
No way...
Out...
Of Here...

No way out of here...
No way out of life...

…

I've begun self medicating with alcohol. Which scares me a bit more than the other things sex drugs smoking rock'n'roll you can self medicate with.

Why do people let the good stuff get ruined? Why do people listen to what other people say?

Why when it comes down to it are we all shit and could care less about the other people; particularly the lower people; even those even just one rung lower than us? especiallly those one rung lower?

Why do we have to be better? wHY CAN'T WE ALL JUST BE WORSE?

I wonder sometimes will this all just end. Will someone be a shit to be and then get hit by a bus, or angels starts diving down from the sky at mach 20 and start burning them and picking us up (OR will it be burn me and pick them up?)...

I'm getting pretty tired of getting kicked around, stepped on, talked down to, taken advantage of, not being given to, having been taken from.

read earthsucks. or is it thisplacesucks? i forget.

someone turned me on to that and i wish he hadn't dammit. just more gawddamn fodder for the gawddamn six shooter sitting here on my desk.

i think i'm going to go visit my friends. i can never remember their names but i remember Airecs. i love his name. and he's the only person i know who's equally psycho as me. he could be me for all i know.

anyway, please, please, i'm begging you. please continue to treat me like shit. i deserve it anyway. please continue to hate me. please continue to discourage me. please continue to look down at me. please continue to cheat me. please continue to ...

no i'm not a SM.

i'm just used to it. a dramatic change to something other than all that might startle my system too much.

this is the part where I say the f-work repeatedly. fuck, fuck, fuck, etc. it’s supposed to be the part where I rise above the circumstances of my imminent death, I have a moment of clarity, all the pieces fall together, I’m given a glimpse of the big plan, I feel ultimately connected to a greater power. But it’s not. fuck, etc.

just.archiving:

this.disclosure.stuff.could.get.dangerous

read that article by Andrew on like, the worst day. the day i say f* all when it comes to our planned spiritual outings. the day when i see literally 100's of Expeditions in Calvary Chapel's parking lot. the three (count us, three) of us participating today managed to tag 32. and all i'm doing is imagining all those self righteous saved f*ers coming out to their --forget gas guzzling enviro stompers-- idols of consumption and proof of God's blessing and saying "Gawddamn treehuggers."

/like.i.said

......

…I can’t even believe that look he gave me. I can’t believe he’d blame me for showing him the truth! That’s like saying that nothing is wrong with the world just because you live, like, where that asshole lives and have never seen any news besides Channel 7.

Damnit! Why can’t he see how to meet…

Why am I so needy?

I’ve been doing fine all this time.

Being needy.

But I need him.


......

I applied to 91 jobs today, all of them total mind fucks.


........

Q: I wonder how many short fat guys there are in this town wearing kakis and blue oxfords right now.

A: Thousands. Tens of thousands.

........

The ocean was particularly beautiful today, all blue and green and being swept up against the beach by a strong easterly wind.

.......

cereal for breakfast. cereal for lunch. cereal for dinner. again today i bit the skin off the tips of my fingers until they bled. today again they raped my soul. "depressed . . . without phone . . . money for rent . . . money for child support . . . money for debts . . . money!!! . . . I am haunted by the vivid memories of killings & corpses & anger & pain . . . of starving or wounded children, of trigger-happy madmen, often police, of killer executioners . . . "1 today again fear rose up in the belly of my soul, erupting in a vast array of symptoms. "Of course this land is dangerous! All of the animals are capably murderous. When I was a boy, my big brother held on to my hands, then he made me slap my own face. I looked up to him then, and still do. He was trying to teach me something. Now I know what it was! Now I know what he meant! Now I know how it is! One must eat the other who runs free before him. Put them right into his mouth while fantasizing the beauty of his movements. A sensation not unlike slapping yourself in the face... Slapping yourself in the face... Slapping yourself in the face..."2

I’ve been thinking a lot about man’s constant thinking about sleeping with as many women as possible, most men dare I say all men? and it’s no wonder that porn is so big, that cheating is at catastrophic levels of acceptance, a new movie that I have no idea why anyone would want to watch exhibit 1. and I’m wondering if my evolutionary psych prof was right, that men just want to sow their seed in as many places as possible. that if you go on a trip your sperm count is higher when you come back because evolutionarily, you need to overcome any competitive sperm that might have been deposited in your mate while you were gone. that the whole men thinking about sex all the time is just our biological thing, and getting one guy to settle down the provide for the offspring is the woman’s. and then I think about how christianity teaches the same thing. then I think about how xianity and evolutionary psych are pretty much in the same boat. they’ve accepted appearances. they’ve succumbed to stereotypes. and they perpetuate them.

I want to be free.

no parentheses here. this is all going right into the fray, baby.

sorry, I call everyone baby.

hadn’t been riding for a while, since the road trip. got out of the cycle. ocean was very beautiful and calm this morning…the clouds kept the sun at bay, made things bearable….really it’s just the humidity that makes things so bad down here. the temperature isn’t that high, but all moisture sticks to you and there is no evaporative cooling occurring whatsofuckingever. I was thinking about riding as meditative time and never remembering all this shite that pops into my head when I’m riding. but I’m getting some of it down. I was thinking about how I need a little digital recorder for all the shite that I think of while I’m on the bike. I was thinking how down here you have to really like just the physicality of it because besides the ocean…there’s nothing…but cars trying to kill you.

I rode by this car shop and thought that I wanted to be a mechanic w/long hair….things are set, you can be, look, feel how you want. you can go home and have a beer at night and sit on your porch and feel that life isn’t so bad after all. our mechanic has long hair; and he’s the smartest dude you ever met. he knows all about computers and he’s traveled to Europe with his family multiple times. he love italy. I hate italy, but that’s another matter. point is, he’s smart, and he’s our mechanic, and sometimes I want to just be a mechanic.

this is the part where I say the f-work repeatedly. fuck, fuck, fuck, etc. it’s supposed to be the part where I rise above the circumstances of my imminent death, I have a moment of clarity, all the pieces fall together, I’m given a glimpse of the big plan, I feel ultimately connected to a greater power. But it’s not. fuck, etc.

we’re going for maximum pleasure.

thought a lot about my dad yesterday, a week and some off of the hate experience. it’s funny how much a father can have an effect on your psyche, even when you’re 27. I guess some people are lucky enough to have honorable, unconditional, accepting, understanding love from their fathers. for the rest of us there is Jesus.

no proofreading here. no sir.

GO AWAY! IF YOU HATE ME, WHY BOTHER? I don't getit....

so have i FUCKing pissed you FUCKers off yet FUCK KCUF FUCK!

what am i doing?

what have i gotten myself into?

what the fuck have i gotten myself into?

WHO ARE YOU
The Who

I woke up in a Soho doorway
The policeman knew my name
He said, "You can go sleep at home tonight
If you can get up and walk away"
I staggered back to the underground
The breeze blew back my hair
I remembered throwing punches around
And preachin' from my chair

Who are you
Hu hu hu hu
Who are you
Hu hu hu hu

I took the tube back out of town
Home to the rolling pin
I felt a little like a dying clown
But with a streak of Rin Tin Tin
I stretched back and I hiccupped
Looked back on my busy day
Eleven hours in the tin pan
God there's got to be another way

Who are you
Hu hu hu hu
Who are you
Hu hu hu hu

There's a place where I know you walked
The love falls from the trees
My heart is like a broken cup
I only feel right on my knees
I spill out like a sewer hole
Yet still receive your kiss
How can I measure up to anyone new
After such a love as this

Who are you
Hu hu hu hu
Who are you
Hu hu hu hu

really, i'm just like anybody else.

i wonder what other people at a concert are thinking of me.

when really they're watching the damn concert just like everyone else.

ok, i'm perhaps a little more insecure than other people. or i just don't cover it up with pride as easily.

i have this funky longish hair that clogs up the drains in my apartment.

i have to clean out those drains.

i'm not crazy.

this isn't the movies.

i'm not.

this isn't.

no kidding.

Isn't it weird/strange/stupid how stress can concrete/implant a memory/moment/thing in your head so completely/thoroughly?

You'll always remember every car accident you've been in. ...Unless you were drunk...

You'll always remember every embarrassing moment from elementary school, from middle school, from high school, from your first job.

You have no choice in this matter. You will always remember because at the moment of the incident, special chemicals were released by your body which somehow burned that memory forever into the front of your mind.

You'll be driving down the road and you'll remember that first accident, or that first time in school when you did something so that whole class was laughing at you.

And there's nothing you can do to not feel that embarrassment, or that fear, all over again.

Like now.

And forevermore.

I'll feel this.