Devil Maker Torches, Trickle Down

Fuck, I really wanted to call this something else but I really can't remember right now.

Is this status quo? Like, my life right now? I just can't seem to do much creative. I can't write songs, reviews, even blog entries.

The night before my last day of high school classes I went to bed too late. I walked to my room, embarrassed about the idiocy of staying up until 1:40 a.m. on a fucking school night, even read a little bit of the Story of B. Actually, no. I finished Bright Shiny Morning (which, incidentally, was very good but only if James Frey is your thing. Really, though, he should not be so loathed. Truth, untruth, he has talent). Then I went to sleep after the usual fussing, which goes something like this: this side, no that side, no side at all I'll lay (lie?) on my back, no, my stomach. Pillow on top of my head, no, one pillow, maybe, no, two pillows, I guess, zzzz. I guess I slept peacefully for three or four hours. Lately, I've had this problem with bugs ever since I saw this freaky as fuck one in my shower (incidentally, late at night). It was actually my third encounter with this particular miniscule monster -- it's sort of long (1-1.2 inches) with legs (not as many as a centipede but more than a spider) on both sides of its body and two antennae at either end. The next few days I spent shaking towels and looking in crevices. So yeah, a bug problem, then after three or four hours of peaceful sleep I had a dream. In this dream, I discovered after, incidentally, a bout of insomnia/bedtime restlessness/general inability to fall asleep) that at around three o'clock every morning these large, black, thick and usually stationary bugs just appear on the walls. All over the walls, all throughout my house. Of course, this made it even harder for me to sleep (in my dream) and I laid in bed scared until daybreak. So, I had a dream about not being able to sleep after I late bedtime... I woke up delusional. It took forever to get dressed, I was in a horrible mood (because of the dream). It took forever to get dressed, oh my god. It's like, me, tripping over all the crap on my fucking floor -- clothes, poweramps, chairs, vinyl, shoes, belts, hats -- in slow-motion and half-blind. Awful. I forgot just about everything I needed for my last fucking day of fucking high school that I hated so fucking much except, thankfully, my camera.


Fives, all round, certain of it...

Homeroom of the year.

Betsy's mostly argumentative bunch.

A reluctant open time crowd of football players (some nice, some not), overachievers, kids who annoy...

My friend and I. "Joe, you're one of our best!" Thanks, father.

Last lunch in that horrible, horrible cafeteria. I fucking hate Eric Desch. Eric, I fucking hate you (rear, left).

Wow. Am I the only one who loved Gov class? Actually, no. John Boyd, aka my hero, with his arm in the air (pink shirt) did too.

I voted boyer best comedian because he is.

The English class that ruined my fucking life. Note the green army men above the green chalkboard.

Web design weirdos.

Drizwald and I's last ride in.

I hope I walk. I might not walk because, for some reason, I have opted not to turn in my service project. Look, I did the service. I wrote the paper. I have the blue book. I haven't turned it in. They last asked for it in late April and I'm hoping it's water under the bridge... What do you think?

I actually had to go back Wednesday and Thursday for a religion exam and book buyback respectively. Book buyback as usual was the great textbook swindle. But my mom and I got Jake's afterward so...

Work was the worst ever today. Matt's in Vegas so from 3:30 on, I was all by myself. Mallory was busy in the bakery for once (right?!) so she couldn't provide the usual refreshingly-high school girl banter nor much needed help. So between frying up batches of the 100 chicken fingers I made from scratch earlier in the day, I sliced prosciutto two or three times, made some rich fella who promised to bring home dinner a ribeye at 6:20 (in other words, everything's clean), cut two pieces of the smelliest messiest cheese ten minutes to close, left the slicers a mess, was pissed off, made sandwiches, was pissed off, was pissed off, helped idiot customers that pissed me off.

What was good today though was riding my bike. I love riding my bike again: what my helmet does to my hair, making amazing moves (like, get this! I was behind this van coming up Walnut when it stopped to make a left so I cut back onto the sidewalk, then off the sidewalk in front of the van again. Perfectly executed.), sweating, breathing heavily, telling people "I ride my bike to work," and having them respond "Isn't that far?," feeling fitter than I actually am and hauling it up several flights of stairs to see some of my favorite local acts and friends. Which is what I did, after work.

John Crodian made me almost cry with is speech before "Failed Attempts at Facial Hair." Not after he mentioned my name, I was bending my knees with feeling even before that. He was talking about the morning before, the moisturizing strip on his razor blade had been completely worn down tearing up his face and triggering the emergence of an under-the-skin zit. "This song is the story of my life for the last six months..." "Failed" is probably my favorite song right now. John takes a tired three chord progression on a ukulele (not-unpleasantly kitsch) and erm... the lyrics make me want so much more for myself and that;s a good thing. I cannot wait for the record.

True confession:
I stalk my ex-girlfriend's lj (still). How do I stop? She never ceases to piss me the fuck off. Our relationship was unhealthy, cancerous. I know this summer will be better than last.

I really need to lower my morals. I really need to ask Steff Yeagley out. Or someone.




I hate to actually do anything, but I'm starting a webzine on this domain name I've had for awhile.
This entry sucked.
YOU NEVER MEANT NOTHING TO ME. YOU NEVER MEANT NOTHING TO ME-E-E.
I hope someday soon I get what I want.