Do you think if you see yourself yawn in the mirror, you will be more apt to yawn later?

A couple of days until summer. I’m excited. I have so many things I am planning to do, so many things. I’m going to start keeping a dream journal again, with the goal of trying to have a lucid dream. I’m going to try and start meditating everyday. Reading 8 books. Writing, writing, writing. Next year I’m going to try and start my own radio show. I’m going to try and start a writing club with others. I’m driving to Vermont in a few days.

I’m optimistic right now… Let’s see how I feel at the end of summer.

When I get done clipping my ten little fingers and my ten little toes, I ache to clip more.

Is there a point to interaction when you know what the person is going to respond? I don't get any satisfaction from it.

Back in the day I would lock my vault with twenty clams, all of them with perfect, flawless pearls inside of them. I don’t think I could ever hear another noise that reminded me so much of—when does a telephone pole—string together with a synonym of actions? Hello? Hello hello hello. That window over there. That person has been staring at me for over twenty minutes. Twenty minutes. Stop. Pine. Whimper. Whimper whimper whimper. My dog sometimes whimpers in the night, I sometimes whimper in the day. Time. With ovations of rewards and a fine settlement of polychromic taste buds. You know what I mean? I mean that I’m mean, with all of the acorns and pinecones in the world, as if I slipped in the sea. Nobody talks to me. When you consider the ins and outs, or the lefts and rights, way way way up there you get at nothing, at least I think? Or maybe you get a giant guffaw, as if the world is drowning itself in one big gulp. Like an overbloated piece of gristle hanging from grizzy Grizzly… in a way that is what it is about. Like failing per se, or a dark road that climbs mountains at its own pace and in its own discretion. Table table, oh table, your covering I think it has dust underneath it. In essence. But why does my toe itch? That’s the question I want to know. A frail and naked tree stands in front of my white house.

I asked someone today…that was walking into the bathroom wearing only his boxers and carrying a towel and shampoo…what he was doing.

Man I’m an idiot.

I have broken down, my shoulders are drooping.

It's time to go to bed, rebuild myself.

I got my mom to believe it was my birthday today, that’s how good I am at April Fool’s pranks.

Jesus H. man! Do you ever discover songs at certain points in your life where you just listen to them over and over and over again? You know that in a few weeks the song will be sucked dry of all of its meaning to you, and it won't be the same at all; but that doesn't matter at all, because you just want to take as much out of it as you humanly can, and by that I mean listening to it over and over and over again.

Well, I've listened to this song about 8 times today! And I could have just not listened to it until I bought it...but I'm going to take as much out of it as I can now instead.

I woke up from a dream today; in it the toilet was clogged and the water was rising, and I couldn't find the plunger.

Somebody could psychoanalyze the FUCK 'outta that there dream.

A counterpart of mine
that is to say
a piece
a part
a property
(of me) was lost yesterday
—along with it my idea of love.

I do not see a fundamental difference between picking one's nose, and wiping out the sleepers in one's eyes. So why is it frowned upon to pick your nose?? Enlighten me, Noah....

I was just sitting in bed after waking up from a nap, listening to Bob Dylan's John Wesley Harding right after a friend just flaked out on me. We had made plans the day before, then he just notified me that "Oh, I totally forgot about that. We'll do that some other time." And it's not like me listening to Bob Dylan's John Wesley Harding is me crying in my pillow. I just woke up from a nap. Those times are the best to just sit still and look out the window--especially accompanied by some Bobby D. And it also was a chance to get over the brackish, bitter taste in my mind.

I think I value friendship too much, I value the connections between myself and other people, to the point where it just leads to some sort of downfall. It's really a paradox of sorts; ironic. I don't know which one it would be, a paradox or irony. Both, I suppose. It just seems that I hold certain things to high. I hold someone saying "Let's do something soon" as absolute truth, and we'll do something. But maybe I should take it with a grain of salt and realize that that is just what people say. It's in their nature of conversation, and really doesn't mean what it means.

Or maybe I just have bad friends.

Sometimes, I cough so hard I practically gag. It's embarrassing. I don't know what makes me do it--maybe walking too fast, coughing too hard (oh and by the way it usually happens after eating)--but it gets to the point when I'm just embarrassed to cough now. I mean, how weird would you think it would be if you saw some person cough twice normally, and then cough again and he basically gags? It's disgusting. I almost puke.

On a side note, I once made a list of the synonyms of the word "puke." I seriously came up with about 20. Ralph, yack, blow chunks. I did it in middle school, with Graham Johnson. You must remember him, Noah?

He's a kind of person I like. I used to be buddies with him, but during high school I never ever saw him, at least in the sort of way where I could keep up our friendship. But everytime I saw him, he would say hi. And I admire that about him. I mean, it sometimes got excessive (after seeing him like 10 times in the span of an hour, saying hi everytime. But anyways, I admire Graham for always saying hi. I've met too many people, that if I have a conversation with them, if I see them passing by later on they'll fail to say "hi"--even fail to acknowledge that they know me. Just like strangers.

Have you ever noticed, too, how silly it looks when people are in dead sprints in all of their winter clothes? Actually, sometimes it's just silly to see certain people sprint. I usually sit in the library at this spot where I can see people outside walking, and I sometimes see, at like 11:31 (classes start at 11:30) people sprinting to class. They just look silly.

A couple years ago I was in the car with my dad, and we were going to the post office. We were in a huge rush, as the post office closed at a certain time, and my dad needed this letter to get into the mail. So we parked at the post office, and he got out and ran up to the door. And at that moment, I was thinking, "This is the first time I've ever seen my dad run." It's absurd, of course, that it could have even been the first time I'd seen him run; of course I'd seen him run before. It's just I couldn't recall a memory of him doing that. And for some reason it just made me really sad, like I wanted to cry.

And if you think in terms of that, what about that point of time where you don't run again in your life. Not a physical ailment, just growing old. You cross a threshold, and from that point on, it's "I'm never going to run again." It's, "The person I see in front of me is never going to run in his or her life again."

Anyways, I was just (I just misspelled that word as juts, since when is "juts" a word? Well, I guess, "the cliff juts out at an angle." Never mind then.) in the cafeteria and this guy was laughing a couple tables away from me. Now, he didn't have an annoying laugh--if he did, I'd have chucked my tray against the wall--but still, it was just as annoying. His laugh was completely normal, and maybe that's what bothered me about it. Maybe it's just because normal laughs are heard in short bursts, not in long intervals like this guy was cracking up about.

Oh, and by the way, I could hear he was laughing about something math related.

I tend to see the sadness behind a smile....

I’m inspired by a light that flows in my attic. I don’t even have an attic—I suppose that shows something about my inspiration.

I think I want to live near a busy interstate, not really close, but fairly. When I go to sleep I’d be able to hear the distant din of lonely trucks driving along. I just like the sense of a great bustle happening near me (but not really near me).

I also want a place with a great view. A great big window, that just has a great view. Great views are the essence of great places. I love them! Or maybe even a view of a street corner. I remember one time as a kid staying in a hotel in San Francisco, I just watched the street corner forever. They were doing construction, and had cones everywhere.

I’ve never thought about living near a river though, that’d be kind of nice.

I liked better early,
when I felt passionately disconnected from all humanity.

Now I don’t even feel a connection to that sentiment,

not at all.

It's sad when people die. Not just literally, but figuratively. I know a lot of people that have figuratively died. There's not even any funerals...

A Fear of a Pebble

Is it quiet enough
for you?
he said
as we both gazed out
at the cemetery
before us:
the graves
the cold the gray
the with-
ering.

But I didn't
say anything
instead
I picked up a
pebble
and stared at the
ground
before me.

I went to bed at nine today.

My body registered it as a nap, and I woke up at 10:30.

How laughable is that?

I know this one guy, he says "yeah?" way too often. If I say something interesting, he says, "yeah"?

Do I do any thing like that?

Smoke sometimes wiggles out of chimneys,
if you haven’t noticed.
It’s pushed out, when
it doesn’t even want to.
and when it gets out into the air, I
think it wails—
as it vanishes and dissipates and is never seen again.

somethin about taking showers