Max

I wish I did other drugs. More creative drugs than alcohol. Something that made me write and create coherently. Or just often. I would sacrifice quaity for quantity. I have the time to pick through it later. OH YOU PRETTY THINGS! Don't you know you're driving your mothers insane. It's true. Thee's a billion mothers driven insane by their pretty little things. Fuck. What're we gonna do. Bitch about being poor Americans? Well fed bitchy poor Americans where you can only starve if you're truly fukt. But they're still here. Starving scared little kids fighting and fucking for all they're worth (it ain't much, as far as we're concerned). But there they are. Under the bridges we drive over. Hiding from the authorities we pay for and expect to protect us from them. What now? Are we going to start porgrams for each of them? Indoctrinate them into the system of checks and balances so that they're as subdued as we are. Fuck that noise. There's too many. No matter how much we deny it there are people living outside our social doctrines. And they will continue. Until our social doctrines reflect the beliefs of the people who are subjected to them. So maybe the bottom line of my drunken rant is thus: Fuck what anyone says is right; do whatever the fuck you want so long as it doesn't abridge the rights of others to do whatever the fuck they want as long as it doesn't abridge the rights of someone else. That's all I can hope to spread. Paradox. Hippocrisy. It's why the government is so succesful. They understand it. The only truth is that nothing is true. The only thing you can count on is that there is nothing you can count on. Rock on dear friends. There's nothing you can do about our myriad problems. Thus any attempt you make makes you a heroine/hero because you're trying despite unsurmountable odds. Help is help is help is positive energy injected into the collective conciousness and as long as we keep on hoping and praying and manifesting positivity in every way possible that's pretty good. It might not solve anything, but it won't matter as long as we're not attached to anything in this life and we spread that awareness to others.

Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. That was a pretty decent drunken rant. Peace and love and shit. Have a kickass night or afternoon or whatever. If you're loking at a computer screen in the morning(as in before noon) god help you. <3

Hey y'all. Or Amanda Jane rather. I don't have any more lj friends yet.
These are my words, ya heard? I'm going to share my fucking gifts with the world today. My supreme sloth mostly. Today I'm going to take pride in my sloth and gluttony as I lust over my neighbor's lot and unleash my wrath all over the fuckin place. Sinnin! Hells yeah! It's true. I'm going to do very little today. It's my new strategy to get myself inspired. Just laying around until it strikes. Or maybe just layin' around all day is my new strategy. Just cuz I can. Being gainfully employed is all well and good if it works for folks but I don't think I need so much of that shit. Maybe I'll get a chainsaw and a double wide trailer and start carving bears wearing overalls from logs. I'll do it. If I want to.

I just found out the new NIN album is out and it's a totally free download. Trent Reznor is the raddest.

I have important video game playing to get to. And maybe drawing some. And maybe more writing. and banana bread. helllllllllllllll yeah banana bread

I love you...fuhrealz

Life is boring and stupid this week. Everything feels crappy. It's about god damn time for some sunshine. I will bitch and moan until the weather subsides or until I get tired of listening to myself. Whichever comes first. I guess I'm going to make some stupid ass dinner. Thanks for reading my petulant griping.

It's true. I can't get enough of it. I got a new job riding a pedicab today. I pedal fatass tourists around the waterfront all day. I made $70 riding a tricycle today. I can work as much or as little as I want. Pictures to come.

"Throw away the pen and pad and simply be the poem"

"Free yourself from the shackles of measurable time"

Fired today. From a collective. The whole thing was petty and stupid. It still hurts though. Especially this week when everything's going all pear-shaped[pear-shaped is obscure British slang for fucked up(not to insult your intelligence if you already know it, but I've only heard it used in movies and I had to look it up on wikipedia before using it with any confidence)]. My roommate's work situation is rather pear-shaped as well. Less so than mine, but it's enough so that he's at least as bummed out as I. Probably more so. And as we're so close our fucked up sitautions really feed into our whole situation feeling quite dismal.

I'm trying to keep my chin up and practice the shit I like to preach to myself about accidents being opportunities and happiness being in my mind, but it ain't easy. I'm wearing pretty thin. I don't need any sympathy. I just appreciate anyone taking notice of my toil. And I appreciate anyone taking notice when I write as it's one of the few creative outlets I've found that I can thrive on. And I'm starved for attention due to being human. A fact that I'm just now becoming accustomed to. At various times I've liked to dream of being a bird or a robot or an inanimate object or an ethereal nebulous conciousness or not existing at all/being dead(which I've pondered to no end). But, no more, I'll make a declaration every day if I have to. No matter if it's as corny as the affirmations and prayers of a religious person. I don't care. I can have no shame without an ego for it to reside in. I'm going to get right with Jesus. I'm going to be enlightened. I'm going to be one with oneness. I'm going to reach Nirvana. I'm going to do whatever the fuck it is Muslims aspire to. I'm not going to get drunk. Well, I might get drunk. But it won't be an attempt at overcoming my problems. Fuck ascetism. I'm going to have fun. With you. And everyone I meet. Because I love you. Because love is more fun than hate. I'm creating a positive loop of self-satisfaction. No more hating other people because I hate myself, I love everyone because I love myself. I'll only harbor hatred for the things that stand between all conciousness being together in peace and love. Or maybe I won't, I haven't worked that one out just yet. I might just skip the hatred completely. I don't know, and that's fine. I can be happy without knowing. And I can find out later, but until then I can rest easy. For there is nothing more noble than being at peace with oneself. Even though I'm not really going for nobility. I don't need that shit to be happy. I just need love, and I have it. For you and for me. GET SOME!

I'm exhausted. Forces beyond my control and comprehension have rendered me, uh well, my attempt at poetic language just failed me, as everything seems to be doing. But I suppose that it would suffice to say that forces beyond my control or comprehension have rendered me. The dictionary lists 21 definitions for render. I often feel compelled in so many directions. I often despise myself. I like writing, but I tend to write in tones such as this. Tones that sound cliche to me. It makes my depression feel so trite, my passion so flaccid. And as I'm often motivated by spite I tend not to write anything just to avoid being labeled as part of the prevailing artistic emo indie hipster bullshit youth culture. Or I'll hide the things I make in a corner or under a rug and quietly loathe them. This doesn't work for me anymore. Actually, I won't let myself do it anymore. I don't want to live wrapped in layers of psycological defenses anymore. I've realized recently that creative pursuits are the way to happiness. I've probably known it in one way or another for some time, but I know now that I need to make creativity an integral part of my life. Unfortunately I'm stuck with this tendency to hate the things I make. So maybe this can be my declaration of turning over a new leaf or page or rebirth or whatever. I'm going to make things that make me happy. Even if they suck. And maybe they'll get better. But I'm not going to need praise or acclaim to motivate me. I no longer have any need for my ego. I don't need to be better than anyone else. The things I need aren't tangible. I am human. My conciousness is concious of itself and it knows what it needs even if I don't. My philosophical statements don't need to make sense. I can claim to be of some eastern school of thought. Or a nihilist. Or I can be a Christian. God knows they don't make a damn bit of sense. So here it is. My rambling-ill-thought-probably-frought-with-misspellings-and-various-grammatical-errors declaration of happiness. I will consider myself contractually obligated to it henceforth. So if I ever again find myself in an inescapable pit of despair and feel the need to end my pathetic existence by my own hand I can look back on this and know that it simply is not an option. Or if anyone reading this ever finds me in a suicidal pit of despair again that person can point to this document and I will be forced to love myself and everything around me and bask in the resplendent glory of existence, or some bullshit like that.

I'm flippin bummed out. I think staying up all night Thursday threw my happy shit all outta whack. I'm trying real damn hard to maintain the way I've been feeling recently. I've been uncharecteristically happy and I really really really want to stay that way. A psychic told me in November I was to do a whole bunch of growing up this year. I hope part of that will be not getting into these psycological loops of self-loathing anymore. I've a severe lack of discipline. And there's a hole in my thumb. And a hole in my sock, and in mah bukkit. I'm a mess. Thanks for reading, I love you.

This Carribean island community is effectively ungoverned and independently wealthy by way of discarded cocaine that regularly washes up on it's shores. Beautiful.
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/topic/story.cfm?c_id=272&objectid=10491443&pnum=0
This guy lives self-sufficiently on an island he constructed of pop bottles, bags of leaves and other refuse
http://www.treehugger.com/files/2005/11/tired_of_living.php
Also, if you like French films and being sad see The Diving Bell and the Butterfly and/or Paris Je t Aime.
I Love You,
Billy Bob

I'm sick. For the third time in a month. Sup wit dat? I quit fuckin smoking and I ride my bike twenty miles a day. Bodies are stupid. I bought a box of discount nectarines and I might need help eating them all before they turn. You should come over and help. Bring miso soup, my throat hurts.
My hero today
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/bristol/somerset/7217788.stm

I've learned to climb out of most any mental/emotional hole I find myself in(eventually). But, even when I'm on top, everything is coming up Billy, got good friends, doing good work, generally having a good time I still find myself desirous. I could really go for some hugs and kisses right about now. Any time this week would be good for me. I could drop whatever I'm doing if somebody wanted to love me up a little bit. Only catch is that there has to be no catches. No weird lingering relationships or any of that bullshit. Not likely, that ain't how life works, yet. Someday soon I'm gonna work it out such that I can get my smooch on in an exciting fun and safe way all the time. That's just the way it's got to be.

I got a job kinda sorta maybe. At this place www.myspace.com/waywardcafe It's pretty awesome. Doesn't pay for shit, but that's ok. I'm gonna grow a garden full of food this summer, and maybe brew some beer, and bake bread from scratch, and make my own music. I won't need to buy things. Hopefully. I'm gonna start paying my rent with magic.
-MAX!

    So last night while I was in bed I wrote myself a not reminding me to write and play music for several hours today. This is all part of my intention to create more things. I've found creating things and learning new things to be a truly positive force in my life and I want as much positive force as I can get. Unfortunately I find resistance or a lack of motivation or laziness urges me to spend most of my waking hours doing pretty much nothing on the internet. Sure I read some interesting articles, but mostly I'm waiting for myspace comments, playing flash games, downloading movies, or defiling my mind with something vile and voyeuristic. So I made a compromise and got a livejournal. Now I can write without leaving the comforting liquid crystal glow of my computer and be slightly social to boot.

    So now what to write about. Shit, I got distracted. Maybe someday I'll write something. Maybe someday.