Trials and Updates Part One (NY/OLY Journals)

Feb. 29 2000

I am afraid. What am I doing. I am blessed with the gift of personal freedom. Am I using it right? I believe I have very strong convictions. Why, then, am I tearing when I think of my future? Is it filled with hardship? Am I to be tested? Why am I here?

Mar. 23 2000

Girls look like boys, and that's okay. Like Renton said: we are moving into a society where there are no women or men, just wankers; and we are okay with that. And I could be an up standing member of this society, a model citizen, if I just forgot a few things. But, I feel most alive when I am moving, like a nomad. I feel that may be what I am destined to do, uproot. "It's about an Oka the size of a fist in resistance, and a will to fight back." I think I have that in me, and that I know how to use it. Maybe I could be Oka. What the hell is Oka anyway?

Mar. 24 2000

DREAM: Rowing a boat down a river looking for Isabelita. I found her at a stop sign (on the river), we rejoiced when we found each other. She was so sad and continued to force the sadness when I grabbed her hand. There is such a thing as independence, but it shouldn't go so far as to shun a person who is trying to care for you. I love the summer days. Sunrays pelting you with all their might, watching children enjoy the first taste of summer.

Mar. 28 2000

Jesus, the time, Why must everything take so long? That sounds petty. I don't want to rush to an absolution. I want to be ready, for what? For death; For country; For rights; For liberty; For anarchy; For world; For equality; For peace: FOR THE PEOPLE! That may even sound worse. Thirty more days, each one a year, mind wandering, wondering. What the hell did I accomplish here? I did nothing I had planned. I honed some specific skills and maybe learned a few excellent life lessons, but I could've done that without leaving. I didn't prove anything. Maybe I just need more time.

Mar. 30 2000

The phone is a weird invention. The entire world at your fingertips if you just have the strength to dial. So many people I would like to talk to. So many numbers to dial. So much work to do. So much. And then I talked to my Mom about numbers, one in particular. Hannah, love-life lost. That, she, was the beginning of my life, my memories. The deepest memory, the oldest one I remember clearly is with her. "I have butterflies in my stomach." That is about as clear as my memory gets (but I remember the beating and blood and crying and fright too). Damn the things that have weakened my brain. And damn me for partaking in them. Mailing letters is a weird thing too, because if you never get a response, you never know if it was received. WOW, the weird things in life.

Apr. 2 2000

Afternoons, Sunday, in Tompkins Square, soccer, cute girls, conversation, friends, laughing, living, life. It is not about action, it is about atmosphere. Passive resistance. Knowledge. Evolution is an invisibly active occurrence. You cannot see it. Modern day: If you cannot see it, it is not there. Maybe that is why so many marriages fail, or why so many people die. People put drugs in their bodies because they cannot SEE life infiltrate their body (that needle, however, is very visible). I support a self-determined future. I support choice. Something we have been without for quite some time. There are too many people looking for microwave change (instant), too many people that deny their thoughts for what they can see on TV (visibility vs. invisibility). I cannot say they are wrong, it puts me in a sinking ship. I do not know what invisibility's are true or false (I cannot see them). I only know what I believe. And I am bordering on Nihilism.

Apr. 3 2000

On educators and educating. The attitude I get from educators is that of confinement. Attempting to confine their subjects to their school of thinking. You can only imagine the internal struggles a young person has. The world is false. Being that, the world is an illusion, a foregone conclusion. Nothing about it can be changed, especially as I further sink into the depths of Nihilism.

Apr. 4 2000

I don't want to be a Nihilist. I think I am just very cynical. I cannot believe anything unless I know all the facts, good and bad. And oh, the mail. I got some today. I wonder whom from? No return address or name? Whoever it is, I don't think they like me. I don't really like being hated, but it is the way of the world. The girl that sent this used to be so good (rebellious) but she gave up. Bought in. Disappointed me. She died. Her soul, her truth, dead. And that makes me sad. That is why I don't want to be a Nihilist, because I want to help people. I got another letter a couple of weeks ago. It is not a hate letter, quite the opposite. Who do I want to identify with? Maybe outward beauty is a sign of inward ugliness. Maybe I don't know what I am talking about.

Apr. 5 2000

What a weird day. I feel so relieved at its end. I wrote a weird letter. I didn't write it with anyone in mind, but I addressed it to Alexandria. Analyze the anatomy of anarchy, you dissect my brain. That was the closing thought, written in German. It was a really heartfelt poem in letterform about what is going on in my life. I should have kept it for myself, it was really beautiful in an eerie sort of way. I am glad it is going out, it really shows what my mind is saying, I had a great writing session. Man, I wish my writing flowed like that all the time. I just wish I could focus like that more often. In time, I guess I will learn to harness and focus my writing, I hope.

Apr. 6 2000

Drove around for hours looking for that perfect spot. But, oh, when I got it, how perfect.

Apr. 10 2000

I am a commoner. I know no more than the average person, I am no more talented than the average person, I lead an existence that corresponds to average life. I am not ashamed of that. I think every single person thinks the same way I do, and acts the same too. I am a unique being, don't get me wrong, but my uniqueness ends at the same place it begins.

Apr. 12 2000

Alan emailed me today! He remembered me from the anti-KKK rally, which was surprising. Soon, he will email me back with some kind of information pertaining to May Day. I am glad I am political. I am glad I have taken on mass society. I am glad that I have enough talent to form my own ideas and not only stick to them, but also attempt to help others understand them. I am getting scared now, because I don't know the next step. I don't really know where to go from here, and it is nearly impossible to fathom the many roads I can take and where each will lead me. I sound like a disillusioned child, but maybe I am. I like to tell people I am old and that I have been through it all (I don't lie, because I feel as if I have), but deep down I know I am still a child with a lot to learn about life. Everyone could feel the way I do, but I have no basis of comparison. I feel deep down, that after this summer, many things in my life will be very displaced. I just can't tell if they will, for the greater good. I think that I have way too many conflicting thoughts in my head and that is why I am confused. I hope against hope that my true purpose, my will, will come into focus soon.

Apr. 15 2000

Dreams are such wonderful things. They unlock the caverns of your brain, recall memories you didn't know existed. When you awaken, you can only faintly recall those things, which filled your subconscious possibly only minutes before. I wish I could remember my dreams more intricately.

Apr. 17 2000

Fearing Nostalgia. Protests in Washington today, I should've been there. I wonder if my beliefs may have a totalitarian ring towards them. I hope not, but I am a Leo. I shouldn't dwell on the protests, I have a march to go to on May Day, and Steve will be here soon. My life has all of a sudden turned topsy-turvy maybe I am coming into focus. Like a camera, you have to go out of focus to really focus on what you want. I am a Lomo now!

Apr. 19 2000

The days seem to grow longer when you are waiting. Riverside 5/18-20, meetings to discuss where this country should be taken, what we want to fight for, I think it is just another group that wants to globalize their views. This is not to be taken lightly. Had a great realization today: I can defend my views and people will back them. Debating at work about where taxes go and whether capitalism is the best way. Two prominent working class men sided with me that the working man couldn't be happy under capitalism. Opened the theory that capitalism buys its constituents with materialism, which equals slavery. Rob did an awesome first sketch of my third tattoo, and it is excellent.

Apr. 26 2000

Packing and sorting, reading so many things I wrote only like two years ago. It seems like light years. I get a weird tingle over my body when I read weird things past, especially those I wrote. It makes my mind believe that I have chosen the right path, and that this is my destiny. Now, I have to make a difference. Sent Alexandria some old journal papers today, maybe she will understand me a little more now. I believe she is cosmically linked to me, but I don't believe she knows as much about me as she purports. I just have so much stuff, material + mental that I need to sort. I am very excited, but I feel a pang in my self that prompts me to believe that I might be forgetting to do something. I hope that I get it sorted out in the next couple of days. I haven't heard from anyone I have been sending letters to. Alexandria and Hannah. Joe is on a downward spiral, I think it is because he leapt into a situation similar to the one he was leaving. I hope he sorts his life out properly. Mom says she may have breast cancer, how weird and scary, I've never really thought of that stuff being so close to me, but life is essentially death, and we cannot escape it in any form it may come.

May 1 2000

May Day in D.C. Arrived with Steve on April 30th slept outside Meridian (Malcolm X) Park in the car. Nearing the rallying time and no Communists yet. Where are these people? The May Day spectacle of Communism is NIL. The Communists do not even respect their own holidays correctly. They march on WDC on the 6th, five days after the actual event—the Communists are not good now.

May 2 2000

Left New York for LA, end up in Asheville, N.C. Money is not an issue here. Very quaint little punk/anarchist town in the mountains, and Fishbone is playing tonite. A slight detour, to see a band, stay in the area for the evening live on spontaneity, live on life.

May 3 2000

25 mile per hour, 24 hours a day.

May 7 (?) 2000

I am in Tempe, AZ.

May 10 (?) 2000

Weird days/nights here in Tempe. Steve and I have spent most of our time here in some weird haze. Two nights ago, for the sake of remembering, I made out with Joe's neighbor, Julie. I think these things need to be remembered, even if they do take place in a drug-induced mindset. Living on a postcard here; palmtrees—poolside vaginal sunsets and drinks to boot. Where are we going and what direction am I headed in? What is this life for?

May 23 2000

So a lot has changed. Steve and I had a bit of a falling out. Wait, backtrack, after Tempe, we went to Palm Desert California—to see Steve's on-line girlfriend Marisa. That was for Steve what Dallas was for me (Robin + Dusty). We stayed there a couple of nights. Steve will never admit it, but we left Palm Desert and our joint plans so he could be with Rachael. We tried to get an apartment/house in Hammond, but it didn't work. I am on my way to Olympia WA. To begin anew. The falling out--Steve basically runs his life on Rachael time and that is fine, as long as he admits it, which he won't. I won't drop it and the truth pisses him off. APPARENTLY I DON'T NEED ANYBODY!

May 29 2000

18 months ago where was I. Right Here. Brooding over what to do where to go. Now I have burnt all my bridges in NY, Chicago, those are the only two places, but they are undeniably burnt. I spent 9 months in the largest city in the world; I do not even realize it yet.

June 2 2000

The day is nearing; I leave for Olympia on the 5th. I am so excited and I just can't hide it (haha) I am really scared too. It is frightening to attempt survival in this weird systematic place we all live. I have 4 bags to take to a 380 sq. ft. apt. I just don't know why places have to be so big. I would be happy with 100 sq. ft., small room-bathroom-kitchen. That would be heaven. Now I attempt life. I attempt…

June 17 2000

Talk about a culture shock.

June 25 2000

I have been here for about three weeks. I haven't really met anyone (any girls or people I can invite to my apt.). I have a barren apt. w/ only a blanket + a pillow (a bunch of paper too). Not one person I wrote too has responded, Steve doesn't even care (I hope he sends that $ so I can pay rent), my job wont give me enough hours to pay my bills. They must think I am a little kid that lives w/ parents or something. There are only 2 really good things I have done/noticed out here: beauty (scenery), and compiling my NY Journals into a book awaiting publishing. I feel the same way I did when I first moved to NY exhilaration of being in a foreign land, and fright of not knowing what to do.

June 26 2000

I got mail today! From Alexandria, the first real mail I have gotten. I was so excited. And I just want to do so much for the greater good, I just do not know where to start. It is very frustrating. I was looking in the paper for a better job, because I have to live in this society, and dropping out is the worst way to convey your ideals. It shows people that believe in this society that you do not like it because you couldn't make it. I can make it, I just don't really want to because I believe that it is false and doesn't concern itself with sustaining life, rather growing for the moment. I want long term love for this world to be the embodiment of everyone that currently usurps its gifts. So I am at the library printing a resume so I can get one of those jobs that say how much you make in a month rather than how much you'll make in an hour. I have funny hair now and it may influence some peoples decision as to how beneficial I will be, that is why I need the resume for them to read before they have a chance to judge the way I look. I have so much to offer if people will grant me an hour to explain myself. So here I am now, sitting in my apt. Attempting to go to sleep at 8:30 because I have to get up at 3:30 a.m. I can't sleep again. So I get up and there is nothing to do in my apartment. I have the radio on, I just ate, and that is really all there is to do here, eat sleep + listen to music. I can also read and write, I am writing now, and reading gets boring quick. I just haven't found a book I can concentrate on and get deeply involved in. I am currently reading: Human, All Too Human, by Nietzsche; How to Build a Flying Saucer, by Pawlicki; Soul on Ice, by Cleaver; and various vegetarian books. I have very little material here to create things, which is something that ate so much time in NY.

June 27 2000

I just woke up, it is horrible to be up this early, because there is nothing to do. I showered. In about 15 minutes I can get ready and leave. Face another day in the fruitful land of Washington. I have an interview today to run a store and I hope that pans out so I can succeed here, by that I really just mean survive. In this society, if you can survive, that is a success. Life is hard for a teenage malcontent, that has little faith in the system he is forced to be part of. Sleeping is hard to do here too. It is tough to get comfy on the floor. Hopefully that will all change soon. Target is not a fun place, excessively governmental—there are rules that must be followed and that does not agree with my politics. And it is just way too hot today—this town is too hot—I think I will listen to the Specials when I get home. Sylvester Park is as close as one will get to Tompkins Square. Music Bums Gathering Free For All. This is the best atmosphere I have found out here, but I haven't been to the rainforests yet. What a weird way to end the night, Steve calls we talk for a little over an hour (then I take a break and experience nirvana in a cup), then Dad calls and we talk for a half-hour. He really wanted to help me out, but I already exhausted my help allowance with Steve. So, I am going to attempt sleep now and ready myself for another wonderful day of life.

June 28 2000

Good morning Target team members, yeah right. I am not much of a team player here. The wheel has been built and I want to put new tread on it—they like it how it is. I am independent, unoffensively aggressive, and in search of something more beautiful than the life I have now. I am tired and hungry. I only ate a light salad yesterday (salad meaning lettuce and dressing). I think I may need to balance my diet a little to attain the health I expect. And I just mailed myself to Steve, much like Waldo did Marsha. Waldo sent his person, I sent my personal. Yesterday, I had a great compliment given to me that reaffirms my political position (in an aesthetic way), I was called: "unoffensively aggressive". That tells my psyche that the long-term goals I have regarding society are attainable. Passively resisting authority in an aggressive way. It seems almost contradictory and thus impossible, but my faith and convictions are rarely deterred. It made me unexplicably happy at the time, and as I cross the compliment over to other aspects of my life, it makes me ecstatic. Frank is such a good person. He gives w/out thinking of reward and I think that is what makes him so successful, I am very happy that I got to meet him and got to learn from him. He is also very modest too, he is the epitome of who I would like to be now, in 5 years, when I am 60. Whenever, I have wanted his life for most of my life. That sounds dependant in the sense that I don't "want to be me, but I want to be HIM" but I don't think that my mind is assuming that correlation, he just has what I want and I am happy I have gotten and get to spend time in his company. Most older generations are that way (as far as my experience goes) they have seen much of what life has to offer and are happy to share it and in turn learn that faction of life (teaching). I just cannot keep good relationships with those that tell me "how it is, and this is what I should do". I don't think I want to be taught life, I want to live and learn. I really want to go to bed too, but I am not sleepy and there is still 1.5 hours of daylight……we will see what happens.

June 29 2000

Olympia twilights and sunsets are best I have ever seen. I am atheist right now, but you can see the heavens here. Heaven is beauty no matter how you look at it. And it is beautiful here. Frank gave me a bike and a bagel. You know why Oly is awesome?: Because we have the efficiency of a metropolitan city and the manners (politeness) of down-home country. I may—will, give living here permanently utmost consideration. I remember feeling dreary much more in NY than here, and my life was simpler in NY. I strummed a bit on a guitar today and really thought about the advantage I would have if I took the time to learn. I received another Alexandria letter today which made me very happy. I am responding by sending here a draft of NY Journal. I am seriously doubting that I will get his published soon. Perhaps I should wait until the Oly journals end (or at least expand) and have a large book in four parts. Chicago—Dallas—New York—Olympia. Perhaps, but I try to base my life on as little certainties as possible. The only real certainty is that I am going to bed.

June 30 2000

I did not go to work today. I woke up at a quarter to six—two hours late already. Would have taken me another hour to get there, I went back to bed. Trying to get a SS card. So I can get a second job w/ **. Does not look good. Government is prickish when it comes to identification matters, but even more when it comes to the requirements of employment—identification wise. Aris Hedon would never attempt employment, only publication; Brian is a different story. I just sent Alexandria a copy of "the manuscript". I think I may be on a downward spiral, maybe I cannot conquer life in this society that believes in conquer or be conquered. I got some prices today for publishing my book, $400 for fifteen copies--$1050 for one hundred copies. I think I will hold out until I have a thousand dollar surplus. I may be able to have these journals done by then too, who knows and lets not plan.

July 1 2000

So I have had this bike for about three days. I do about 7-10 miles a day on that beautiful girl. My DiamondBack Outlook (actually, Frank's). So I was sitting on the bus today and I draped my arm over the seat in front of me. Old guy. Sees me. Wraps his hand around his groceries. I sigh and shake my head. I really am starting to get fed up with this "I am out solely for one's own", and this fear of people. I am not afraid of people; just aloof to striking up conversation so I don't talk often. I don't think it is a bad thing. I enjoy the way I am, and I am glad that I reserve conversation because when I do speak, it is more meaningful. I hope I quit smoking today. I tried last week, it lasted nearly two days. I am only at like 14 hours now, and would really like to see if my neighbours would be so generous (purely scientific). Alas, I did not. I want to see if I can conquer addiction and use it to advant, such as King Lamus in "Diary of a Drug Fiend". I think I can and I will. If I can prove self-determination, I can prove anything—including anarchaic laissez-faire capitalism. But I guess that requires much more writing and thinking than abstaining from nicotine.

July 2 2000

It is 3:12 a.m. and I just awoke to my alarm. I had hit snooze once. It was really weird because I was half-awake/half-dreaming at the second buzzer, but I incorporated the buzzer into my dream. And it has been one full day now without nicotine, but the celery helps. I should go to the Farmer's Market today and buy bulk celery, but I probably won't—I will make that a note though. I went to the market and bought cherries, romaine, cabbage, and pears. Celery does not harvest until August. I have fallen into a noticeable routine here, so much quicker than in NY, but this routine is healthy, smart, agreeable, great. I wake around 3 a.m., shower. Then I dress and maybe have a light breakfast (bread fruit vegetables). Around 3:40 a.m. I leave for work. I ride a bike five miles. I get to work around 4:20 to clock in around 4:30 (ten minute leeway is most excellent). Get off work, average time is 11 a.m. Ride bike to bus, take bus home. Get paper and coffee and donut (I am ashamed of the donut, as it most likely has animal products, but I hadn't been eating properly and it provided much needed calories—I think I have sorted it and tomorrow I will leave the donut behind) go back to apartment, read paper, drink coffee, then I sit on the toilet. It is now about 1 p.m. The next 4-5 hours are different, I can go downtown, library or stay home. Usually I do all of these in this time. If I am downtown I try to get home around 6-7 p.m. Then I am at home and I go to the store to buy dinner. Come home again and have medium sized dinner, and usually lay in bed to sleep around 9-10 p.m. taking me nearly half-hour to actually drift into my subconscious, I get up and do it again. I got some really good bread tonight! 99 cent loaf of, it is probably day-old, french bread, it is excellent. When I eat it I feel I should be in Godard's "Weekend" talking about minority suffrage. My neighbour, the pregnant girl (Tina?) just came over shaking and asking for a cigarette. It was odd and I do not know what to do about it. I would like to console her, but I cannot just offer her celery. I feel ashamed right now because I am at a loss, I do not know how to console her, nor do I know if I should even attempt helping her. I am not sure if it is my place. Dammit. There is a whirlwind in my head right now about what should take place. I should just go to bed, call it a night. I can barely help myself (let alone help others), and I am sure this excuse is heard a lot. Weird Weird Weird. Robin from Dallas just called me, how odd. We talked, and it was fun, but she seems very distant and I do not know what to do about it. She said she was going to come up here, but she is scared of volcanoes. OH WELL. She comes, she doesn't, no bother. No expectations.

July 3 2000

So I was dreaming a lot. About kids and Target and Melissa. Weird. I dreamt that Melissa and I had a five year old son at all times. When he was bordering on six we would go to Target and switch him with someone else's child. If she only talked to me, I could tell her this stuff, but that is okay, I will just go to work. I was riding the bus home and (as usual) there were these kids behind me that only used two words. Fuck, Shit. These kids were probably a few years older than me, but their intellect combined couldn't match mine (not saying that I am super smart, just that they really aren't). I really wanted to have a talk with them, but I didn't want to be "looking down on them" (I think I want the word "condescending" but I am not sure). So I sat there. I did nothing. I am not sure, yet, on how to approach someone with a suggestion without offending them. It is something I would like to learn. One day I might, maybe when I am older. Ha Ha. It is so weird, I know, I say that way too much, but there are so many life-oddities I want to identify them all. Robin is becoming one of my best friends/priorities again. She plans to come here to visit me, great, no problem with me. I do not think she will make it, and I would much sooner invite Alexandria, whom I have never met, to my home. I know Robin, she is like Tiffany and that is okay—they are both from Texas. I do not know Alexandria and I would like too. In an unexpected turn, life become lovable and we flourish, it has nothing to do with tomorrow. I likewise, will have nothing to do with tomorrow. Save the fact that I will live.

July 4 2000

I did not get up at 3:00 in the morning. Every day I have had off since I walked to work that one time I have said I would watch the sunrise from the top of Somerset Hill. I woke at 3, looked at the clock, shut off the alarm and went back to bed. Then I woke again at 7 a.m. to the phone, it was Mom. She started wishing happiness for the day, and in my half-awake state I started spewing anti-government rhetoric, she said bye, I went back to sleep. I woke again at 10:00 a.m. got the paper (now delivered to my door), a note from *** (taped to my door), and proceeded with reading. I left the house around noon or one, I really don't remember, but I fought my way through parades and people to the grocery store. I arrived, bought bread, and embarked on the 3 a.m. journey. I believe it is around five or six p.m. now, but I really do not know. I have been sitting up here for a long time reading Gandhi’s "Autobiography" and thinking. About past, present, future, about people with electronics and animal slaves that attempt to disrupt my peacefulness in this world, about truth and life and death, about Robin and Alexandria and Tiffany and Melissa, about Steve and Rob and BeeJay and Alex, about life and everything contained. You can really find yourself when you are at the top of a hill with posthumous Gandhi and bread to reason with. I think one could find anything under those circumstances. I wonder if I am waiting for something. I mean, I have been sitting here for awhile, with the intent of leaving soon, but I am not going. The nature sounds are beautiful (but they are frightened by the "booms" this day brings about). I had a great idea for an essay last night. It was against this day, but not in the usual sense. It was an appeal to the litter that fireworks, that so wrongly represent our independence, create. We have to live on this Earth, we attempt to celebrate are so-called "freedom" by destroying the planet. I wonder if environmental activists that believe in this country have ever seen that correlation. It probably sounds like this when you are 30 miles away from a battlefield and the battle is starting to deaden (or maybe just begin), light gun-fire the occasional 150 round. Some mortars and a few far-off missile droppings (we are going by sound, not sight)--and the birds still sound the same, peaceful. And I really do not understand the justice noise does for independence. I think it shows that to gain our so-called independence, we had to employ violent means--thus making us dependent on violence and thwarting independence. A peaceful evolution that leads to total independence and freedom is only dependant on the will of the people, and it could never be said that peaceful independence is dependant on peace, because it is only dependant on the thought of peace being in one's mind (dependant on idea, rather than action)…or something like that. I kind of picked up a cat. He just walked into my apartment, so I shooed him away. I felt bad and went outside to see if he was still there. He was. I invited him into my apartment. He is very well-behaved which leads me to believe that someone else may "possess" him. Until that is figured out, his name is "Carnivore". For some reason, my entire internal force is thinking about Cleveland. I am not one to really plan anything, but I want to live there one day, if only for a couple of months, that is fine. I have been there thrice of my own accord, Once with Melissa, twice as busstops on the way to either Chicago or NY. (Add one more to the bus station count.) I just hope I will have a chance to get to know the city someday. I think and write enough about Cleveland to the point where I scare myself. At least I do not write that much about Baltimore. I do not think I will keep Carnivore as a pet. Carnivore is allowed here anytime, but I cannot have something dependent on me right now, because I can barely nurture myself. Anyway, I will attempt to keep Carnivore as a friend and invite him inside whenever he is around, but he may not live here, and I cannot feed him. I have nothing he will eat; I am a herbivore, Carnivore is a carnivore.

July 5 2000

I wish I could have a mental computer chip. I had so many good thoughts today at work, I would love to write them all down. They escape me. I remember one: females are great, because those things they wear in their hair (scrunchies) match their shirts. Yep. I have reached an odd epoch in my life, I think. I am here, I am considering roots, while planning for Cleveland. I am really at a loss--of knowledge. I felt like Charlie today (from Willy Wonka), Frank showed me a bunch of stuff about the shop, I answered the phone, cleaned the espresso machine, dealt with the public, changed the water, and other little things.

July 7 2000

I just had a very good-weird-thought. There are a lot of people in the world. I have come into contact with so many different people, genres, cultures, societies, etc. I would have to bet that plenty of people have experienced what I have (and do), but I wonder if anyone has done it exactly the way I have, I doubt it. Not to say there is another person from Chicago that moved to NY and then to Olympia, there could be hundreds. It is just common (knowledge) that, although there are similarities, there is no defining connection making my life the same as someone else's (flip-flop too). I think about utopia often. I wondered if a society that lives in total peace, freedom, equality (is feasible), I always come to the same conclusion: YES! The only thing I cannot fully grasp is the path. I may have been enlightened today. Utopian beliefs--gestures--fail because they do not fully understand the concept of utopia. Let us break it down: Utopia (the word) means perfect society. Utopia (the idea) means perfect society. Good correlation between word and idea. A perfect society means that everything (the flowers and seas to the cows and trees) is perfect, or utopian. It is common knowledge that the human being is the smartest animal (or perhaps the most evolved (assuming that speech is better than telepathy (assuming that there is a possibility that beavers use telepathy--get my point?))), or at least the animal most intent on greed and destruction. What I am getting at--the end-- is that a fruitarian society is the only utopia possible. Fruitarians (what I am aspiring too--I am bordering on vegan and raw foods), eat only fresh fruits, nuts from the earth--no vegetables (they lead to cultivating earth creating farms and thus globalization and environmental destruction)--they cannot consciously harm any being by surviving on fruit only and once we grasp that our diet is the first place to start utopia, perhaps more animals will be saved. I am beginning to observe my sleep requirements. I have been falling asleep around 6:30 7 p.m. (it is 6:34 now and I am readying for rest), I am usually awoken (?) by the phone around 8. I hope that doesn't happen this eve, I want to sleep.

July 8 2000

In NY it was Rob. I secretly admired his being and wanted to know him when I first met him. In Oly it is Bobb. I must have a gay fetish for people that I work with (and are at least 10 years older than me--Rob, 30; Bobb, 32). My first day, I talked to him and decided he was the first person for me to befriend. And today, I think I did. I wonder if this makes me somewhat gay? We talked today, small talk, he introduced me to some other people, we worked together, I think we could be friends. I have a wonderful and beautiful thought at least once an hour. Why come this isn't full of wonderful and beautiful things?--because I never have this on me when I think the thought and it passes before I can get quiet time with my book. Damn my brain. I just finished reading Gandhi's "Autobiography"—or memoirs. A couple of days ago, I checked out Elizabeth Wurtzel's memoirs entitled "Prozac Nation". I have only made it through the prologue and first or second chapter, but in that time (space) there was a reference to Ernest Hemingway's classic "The Sun Also Rises", I got that book from Frank and I am still in the first chapter (I got it a couple of days after I got Gandhi). My point is that the three books I have started (and/or finished) recently have been linked in some weird way that was unexpected and unplanned for. I usually get halfway through a book, get bored with it (leave it in the bathroom), and start reading something new exciting and different. I know I must read these next two fully and wholeheartedly—perhaps a sign for change in my reading habits. Alright, so one of those thoughts came back to me. Deprivation. The other day I saw a mother give her child popcorn (probably salted and buttered). Later on the child started crying (probably because the mother took away the popcorn). The mother, in an attempt to shut the child up, dictated to the child that when the crying stopped, the popcorn would resume. Addiction Deprivation Disorder. The mother (by choice) addicted (short-term, with long term possibilities) the child to the popcorn, when the popcorn was removed withdrawal symptoms occurred. This is the way kids are molded today, and that is why people are so easily addicted (cocaine, money, sex, popcorn, whatever) and probably why other disorders (depression, nausea, etc.) come about. The root of all evil, and the backbone to most upbringing scenarios is: Addiction Deprivation Disorder.

July 9 2000

I really do not like re-using ideas, or really even furthering most of them (especially meaningless ones). But I have a comment about something I wrote yesterday. I wrote about having a wonderful and beautiful idea about every hour—well today I cannot reminisce one. Folding my laundry is not some all-important, definition-of-life task that I should be hell-bent on doing. I have, at most, fifteen items (articles of clothing) to be folded. It takes five minutes, if that. I always looked at it as something to do after they were dry. Perhaps it is a forgotten Addiction Deprivation Disorder. Maybe my mom wouldn't let me eat dinner (dead animals + cooked vegetables), until the laundry was folded and put away. Perhaps I just put it on myself; at any rate, this time it is going to wait until a later time, I am currently engrossed in "Prozac Nation". I am moving rapidly, everyday, towards a very (in a good way) restricted diet. As of right now, the only prepared foods I will allow myself to partake in are: Bread—not dairy based, and Chai Tea—w/soy milk. I am headed (my ultimate goal is) towards fruitarianism—I will only eat "the fruit of the land" I think it was explained a bit in a previous entry. I just had the notion that I should live in a place where I could grow my own food. If I were to buy an acre of fruitland in South America, I could live 100% off of the land, no problem. I would cease to need money because all I really need to buy now is food. I could build a meager shelter just to accommodate me (if someone else wished to join me, they would have to build their own hut). And if all this took place, even alone, I could experience Utopia in mind body and spirit. My mind would not rest on partial matters like bills (I would own the land), it would allow my mind to activate and accelerate to higher levels. My body would not yearn for nourishment, my food would always be next to me and I would keep my strength by gathering my fruit. My spirit would be elated because I am doing the right thing (in Gandhi's eyes: the godly thing). And I wouldn't have "No Trespassing" signs—I can only eat so much fruit and I would keep minimum possessions. One that would attempt to rob or "put one over" on me would receive the same as Jean ValJean (from "Les Mis"). It would be perfect, utopia, and (in my mind and life at least) imaginable. I am ready to undertake this new task I have seemed to present myself with. Fuck Cleveland. I am going to Brazil! I am moving into a life where I do crossword puzzles (where the letters that aren't touched spell a mystery word), and read naked all day. I went to work today, I did laundry (but didn't fold it yet). I ate some fruit and bread. I got up at 5:30 in the morning, I have a life that I never planned for—never knew it even existed. I don't know, but I have decided to look closer at college tomorrow. I don't know (continue with that thought) if it will do any good for me or not, I have this dark image and I have always looked down on educational systems. At any rate, tomorrow I am going to bike to SPSCC and look into a fall course. Who knows, it could be wonderful. I can only do five push-ups (I know I am weak). Perhaps I will hang in the gym?? When and if I run for President, I have my campaign slogan taken care of: I am fat, I have a small penis, VOTE FOR ME!

July 10 2000

There is a reoccurring theme in my writing that I may be able to expel, or at least gain further enlightenment to its cause. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I always wonder why: Why am I here? What I am doing? What have I accomplished? etc. Reading this book grants me knowledge to an easy-out clause (in a way), while still being 100% acceptable. Maybe I am in a constant state of depression—which explains why I move so much, why I am trying to escape without really facing it. I can trace it back to ground zero too: broken condom. So we had a broken condom and it forced us to look at life in a way I was totally unprepared too. That view was responsibility, to never end. Perhaps I said to myself life is really fucked up and if I keep being irresponsible, I am going to end up like so many other unhappy 40 hrs/wk gotta support the family put meat on the table and buy Christmas presents people that were unexpectedly thrown into life, real. I hadn't even moved out of my parent's house yet! So I got scared and started to run, assumed I could chase down answers, they had to be in Dallas-NY-Olympia-Asheville-they had to be anywhere but Chicago. And I ran and ran. It is true, right after the incident I went to Dallas, got back and attempted (in my own sick way) to re-establish connections with that girl—I knew I had fucked up big time, she was gone and I felt lost. So I did anything I could do to attempt happiness and I couldn't amount anything to the happiness I felt with that girl. I lived in Chicago and worked to consume my mind, not to brood over the past. I couldn't do it, I needed salvation, I needed some kind of drug that would erase my past. I found it, but it only lasts for awhile. My drug was the road—trouble in Chicago, go to NY. While in NY my Chicago seemed insignificant (because it was a suppressant) and I flew from the ranks of my so-called depression. Drugs wear away. That is why I don't take them, they mask the truth (then why do I run??). So the NY drug faded away, Chicago came back full force (and in a way came to NY to retrieve me). I am Indiana Jones and adverse. I got away from the grips of truth (of Chicago) and ran even further away, to Oly. I realize now I can never escape depression, only face it. Perhaps if I allowed myself to be more forgiving and less dramatic I would not have plummeted as far downward as fast as I have. Who knows. After thinking about this all day, perhaps my depression starts further back—like to when I was born. My childhood was awash with anti-me. Name-calling: Chunk, Pudge, Pugsley, etc. I had no defenses—everyone was older than me. That didn't help, I was digging a hole (with my whole family backing me up) so deep it would be near impossible to escape. I pissed myself in my sleep at least until I was 10 years old (it may have been longer, I don't remember), that made my hole muddy and easier to dig, easier to suffocate. And I continued this way never even attempting to get out. Then (17 years later) this girl comes along and I quickly emerge from my hole (winter is over). A condom breaks, but that brief reprieve of depression, it is back full force. Now, I have been out of the hole, and I cannot go back in so I fill my time with reading, education, theorizing, traveling, and contemplating—but not curing my loneliness. That is what I need to do. And, if only for a weird afterthought, I am going to attempt higher learning. I plan to take some college courses this fall.

July 12 2000

So I finished "Prozac Nation", it was very good—to say the least. Now, I have begun "The Sun Also Rises", and I was thinking about picking up some Heidegger. The last two days have been hectic. Yesterday, I got off work around 2. I went to bed around 7. I didn't sleep well, or much. I got up at 12. I left for work at 12:26. I was supposed to be at work at 1. I got there at 8 past. Marcus wasn't even there yet, I clocked in around 1:30. I got off today around 10. It is 3 now. I am planning on going to bed soon. I picked up 3 new books at the library today and started reading some correspondence that may land me some friends (that I can invite home). I haven't gotten any mail lately ("e" and regular)—I am saddened because of it. I really expect something—from Rob, Alexandria, or even Melissa. Anyone, send me mail, make that key worth something. I am tired.

July 13 2000

My back hurt horribly this morning. I took a shower—it still hurt. Every morning I dread riding to work-especially this, but I always feel so relieved afterwards. I don't know why, really, perhaps morning adrenaline or something more complex. The Coke machines both flash "sold out" and that makes my mind wonder if I did (look where I am) or if I can add this to meaningful experience? I don't even understand anything anymore. My life—don't get it. My surrounding—don't get it. Life in general—don't get it. There are so many things I would like to say, to write, to experience, to know, so many things and I find myself wondering when I will get a chance to do them. It is odd, because these things I cannot put into words easily, nor can I even focus on their infinity. This leads me to believe that I am doing what I had always hoped-dreamed, I just don't realize it yet. I long for realization, a tangible thought (a thought I can express), always waiting for some truth to just let me know that I am progressing, not congressing (going back). I just had a thought about gay people. If you have a (is it plu- or pla- tonic?—I'll use plu-, it sounds further) plutonic relationship with a girl and she talks about sex, or you do, she is obviously the girl (female input in the relation). If you have the same kind of talk (with a gay male) you become the girl, because a straight guy does not want to be a guy around a gay guy, you know. This isn't homophobia or gay-bashing, this is good; it allows a straight male perspective to the female end of a plutonic relationship. Wow. I was just riding my bike and I recalled (for some weird reason) my LSD induced NY bike ride. By far, the best short ride ever. I even chased a taxi-cab. And then I wonder if I even felt NY while I was there, and why I left. Olympia is beautiful, don't get me wrong, but compared to NY –the self-proclaimed epicenter of the world. It is weird. I hope something groundbreaking happens soon, so I can have a reason to this madness. I don't exactly remember the date (we say the 1st of July from now on), but I quit smoking. I have thought of bumming, but I am thirteen days strong and hope to keep it up. 2000 is my lent.

July 14 2000

I got off of work around 8 am. I go back tonight at 10 p.m.. I spent most of the day watching Sylvester Park. I saw the best hackysacker I have seen in awhile—very soft to the point hits, very beautiful. I was quite tempted to offer my services, but I felt very "under the weather" comparatively. I know it is a game of commons, but I have never played West-Coast hack.

July 15 2000

I just dozed at Franks with coffee in my hand. It spilt. I felt stupid, falling asleep—I AM YOUNGER THAN THAT!! Three more hours to go. Buy "transfused" ticket, go home, eat, come back---watch the show, go home and sleep. I can't wait. I have been up since 3 am yesterday morning. I went to work yesterday, watched hacky, went home and attempted sleep. If I did sleep, it was no more than one broken hour. Went to work (left at 8 p.m.—took buses), got off around 5 am. If I go home I will pass out and be no good tomorrow morning, if I wait 'til around sixish it will be excellent. So, after work this morning I rode my bike around downtown Oly, checked out Lakefair, the streets, and thought in Sylvester Park. This guy, Steve, comes up to me at—it had to be like 630 am—and just asks me if I have a hacky sack. I DO! We hacked until around 8 am, it was fun—he was very good. He said he also plays foosball, and I would love to match a game with him. So, it is around 930 am now and I am waiting. I will go to the market soon and pick up a few pieces of fruit for now, hopefully last 'til noon. I will go to the Farmers Market now, get some fresh picks, I love the market. This is one of the most peaceful places, farmers selling surplus for cheap, consumers walking around—shopping around. This is what I believe pure capitalism is and there is no need for a government to exploit this. This is unison and unity, not quite anarchy but peaceful and free, it is wonderful. I walk up and down (and there are only three lanes) a smile has crept onto my face and I cannot remove it, nor do I wish too. This is happiness and love, this is life, and I thoroughly enjoy this. Soon enough I can buy my "transfused" ticket, but I am not so sure I want to leave this scene just yet, you know? I should buy some potting soil so I can plant my seeds, so I can continue life that has been so good to me. My thoughts are even so much happier here—with the flute player in the background—with the sun shining on my back and neck I would like top yell to the entire world that I am in love, and it is with this life, but I do not really want to cause a scene and disrupt the overall peacefulness. This is so beautiful. Still here at the market. I ate some Indian food—PYKORAS! They were excellent, vegetables fried (I think) with some sauce—very good whatever they were. I ate an apple afterwards (drink), and maybe that is how life should be lived, eat fruit for water. On the contrary, eat fruit period. You get water and vitamins and minerals, what else do you need? The more I think about it, the more right fruitarianism is, I really wish I had enough will power to commit, but I also think, I may be giving up too much at once making it okay that I stick with veganism. It must be around 11 am now, high time for me to skedaddle—buy my tickets and, perhaps, just come back and wait for the show. What do I need to do at home? I already ate and sleeping is not an option, I read most of the newspaper and wont be disappointed if I find it missing, the only exciting reason to go home is the mail, but it wouldn't get there until I had to leave—and it most likely is a setup for disappointment anyway. Wouldn't you know, I got mail today from Rob, very beautiful artwork. I am making vegetable rice soup, the first taste says it is a+! I should send out a course of letters.

July 16 2000

Well, I did not accomplish many letters, only one, actually—to Alexandria….and it wasn't even very good. I bought a ticket to "the transfused" that is why I am hanging out at the Farmers Market again, not that this place annoys me—quite the opposite. And I think of all the wonderful (however tiny) things I have done + seen, and I thank myself for being myself. And I thank everyone that has helped me along my way, and I thank everyone that has discouraged me (leading me to defy), I thank the world for allowing me to experience it, I thank life. And I am experiencing the world, life, beauty, love, vision, truth, understanding. I love the Farmers Market, there is so much diversity and truth it makes me tremble (and smile) with goodness. "Transfused", at the intermission. Remember, we choose to take the "fix" and support the corporation, we can digress whenever we want. This is amazing, I would love to tap some of these people for what they are worth and work with them on educating people on the coming evolution, and how they can get ahead of the game. The game of life, I hate that expression; life is an experience, not a game. The title of my book is: "Philosophy, Freedom, and Diet", encompassing everything that has become known to me since I have been ALIVE. If and when I complete the compilation, it will be beautiful. It all flows so smoothly as I recite it in my head right now, I hope I can accomplish this slickness when I am actually writing it (perhaps this could be it!), and that others can comprehend it as clearly as I see it. This production is something I should like to see on Broadway in NY and perhaps I will send some info to some theaters out there, I doubt it, but I will send it to Rob. The whole experience breathes life into my lungs that change is possible. It is. It also redefines my view of society—and forms my view of transexuality, it is wonderful. This life that allows freedom and diversity (however cloaked it may be) is beautiful and wonderful. I am in love, and I can never express that enough. This totally redefines my view of Oly too, this is what I expected—and am totally stoked that I could be a part of it (however cloaked I may have been)—(or may be). I have fallen in love 100 and 10 times today, I fell in love with the cripple (no legs) girl, about 99 girls with hairy armpits, Radio Sloan, Donna Dresch, Freddy Fagula, and the other big gay guy, and the little girl with the hawk, and more more more. This is kind of like the "I had a dream" speech.

July 17 2000

I stole today, from target. I think stealing is wrong, one should be able to produce means on their own or at least barter for the empty space. I cannot barter, negotiate, or deal with them; it is impossible. I stole four pens, for a good reason. These pens are going to further my writing career, these are going to writ "Philosophy Freedom and Diet," much like the last pen I stole at SLC wrote the NY Journals, it all turned out for the best. Perhaps, one day, someone will steal from me to create beautiful art. I think Steve got some initiative in the Rachael fiasco to bring to light the truth, which I think will be negative—I think she will lose Steve, but, in a sense, I will gain him. I am torn, but I offer him the best advice I can—do what you want to do. It is boiling in my apartment and I am a victim—the victim, as if someone else would come in here now and be victimized by this collective heat that, in a weird way, is mine. I stared "Philosophy, Freedom and Diet", a good thing. I am happy, but simply must sleep. Robin hasn't called for days, I wonder what is up?

July 18 2000

I am going to grow the AH-OLY beard. We have seen AH-NYC, AH-WDC, and AH-CHI beards, but this AH-OLY beard should be definitive. I talked to Tiffany today, she is very ecstatic about coming here for Ladyfest, but I am not so sure I am anymore. No matter, I will put her up and put up with her, she helped me out, let's return the favor. I wrote Alexandria a letter that basically inquires why she hasn't written me in so long. Still no word from Robin, I guess everyone just wanted a little distance for awhile. I didn't, but I accept it. Hopefully I can get Steve out here soon, I am kind of in a rut and could use his expertise in certain situations. I hope.

July 20, 2000

You know, I wonder how I occupy my time. It is a quarter to five right now. I have about four hours before bedtime. I will eat my black bean and brown rice vegetable soup, I will write in this book and maybe others, I will read. Three things read/write/eat I could say think, but I do that all the time—thinking is an endless activity. I met some internet girls recently; Elizabeth from Ohio, Alyssa from Yelm, someone else from NJ/TESC. Possibly the someone else or Alyssa will pan out and offer me relief from this loneliness I cling too—it is not helping at all that Robin stopped calling and Alexandria stopped writing, I feel as if my raft is going away from land opposed to towards. Perhaps that is just my pessimism, the world is round; no matter which way you go you will always strike land. I could just be taking the long way (home); experience ultimate loneliness so any spark of togetherness will feel like landing on the moon (wonderful/new/scary/exciting) and I will be an awestruck boy to help the relationship. I should do laundry. At Oly World News: "Time is a river which carries me along, but I am the river; it is a tiger that devours me, but I am the tiger; It is a fire that consumes me, but I am the fire."-Jorge Luis Borges. Perhaps these are days I will grow to cherish, listening to whiny punk rock outside Dumpster Values on Washington St in downtown Oly, perhaps I already do cherish them, but I really haven't the slightest idea what cherish means yet (as a concept). Miles Away Miles Away Miles Away, in ten minutes I will be about three miles away from here at home and I am going to listen to Ween. Skinheads Skinheads, away from them too! I am totally lost when it comes to the concept of making friends, I just don't have the capacity. In NY my friends were from work or directly related to work. Maybe I have mutated to corporate standards, I cannot socialize unless I adore the corporation (in drugs/beer/sex/meat/Amerikkka/death/mistrust etc.), I cannot prosper until I pledge allegiance to the corporation; and you know I am halfway there, I work for them—we all know that can be rationalized, so let us not be rash or jump to conclusions.

July 21 2000

I went to NY with around $300, well between $200 and $300. I milked that as long as I could, when I noticed the drying of the well, I looked for continuance i.e. a job; I remember, rather clearly, that I bought a scratch off lotto ticket with my last dollar. Sitting here in Olympia, I vow that will never again happen. I have been to Lacey WA—I rode my bike on Sleater –Kinney St. Today, in a way, is historical. This is my first encounter with Lacey and I found my way from the cinema (I saw "X-Men") to LTC (Lacey Transit Center) 100% on my own.

July 22 2000

I am falling asleep on the bus at 9:31 in the morning. Yes, I am tired and got off work early. And it rained today, so much—in so many ways. I always thought that all the friends I have made would always be my friends, maybe not always as strong a friendship, but always accept a letter from me in the mail. This makes me feel like crying, but I am not going to; this makes me angry, but I am not red; this arouses so many mixed emotions that I feel as if I cannot handle it. "Return to Sender" maybe it will turn out like that song, I will mail it once again, spend 33 more cents, all for her—the girl that wont accept my mail. I look at the letter with phrases like "return to sender" and "no longer lives here", it is sad. I have had a negative effect on someone, a person that once showered me with love now hates me. I do not hate back, I respond with more gratitude and graciousness—this letter is going to fuel, I am going to send it to her once more and email it to her, if both attempts fail then I will hold the letter until I can put it in her hands—however may years it takes, I am passionate about this. In fact, I will write on new letter, save this one and see what happens. I don't want this letter to be lost, it says so much. The new letter will be simple, an inquiry as to what her new address is (I am in disbelief that she has left) , and many niceties. If this one comes back I will write a letter to her sister Tabitha. That will be weird. Perhaps my person will benefit more with an Alex Supertramp act. If I were to just drop out of society, 100% and travel discover seek know find know life and its happenings—maybe I'll do that in November. I will avoid major cities have on my person only a few artifacts, clothes and food and such. That will be my beginning , my new frontier, my truth, yes, I think I may have to undertake that challenge (or die trying). I can drink peanut butter. Yes, Nov. 30th should mark the beginning of my life. I will get back my deposit money from the village (Alpine), at least $500, and then I will be off. That is life, mine at least. I have been cheating myself, saying that I am living life, I am scripted. I follow paternistic American life, apartment, job, security, stove, cards, too many things that a truly free person should be free of. So, as the cards fall, I am not truly free—no Supertramp here (props). So, off I will set into the bush and wilderness of life on foot/bike, whatever affords me. The only home that will be granted is the road; the only job, life; the only security, wit; my stove will be of sticks and stones; and cards—I will have nothing bearing my true identity, at least the identity governments take as truth. And, oh yeah, Elizabeth from Cleveland called me today. She caught me offguard, but only talked with me for five minutes—she said the call was expensive but free, whatever that means. 330-534-9648, that is her number (star 69 works well!). I do not see much coming from this relationship, but that is okay—it is still fun.

July 23 2000

Elizabeth called again. She woke me up and I hadn't the slightest idea who she was. She is enticing me to come to Cleveland. I doubt I will go there, expecting another Dallas—without my own root. But, to the contrary, I want to ride this bike cross-country without my own root. I want to go to Alaska, Brazil, Iceland, without my own root. I believe that there is more opportunity in traveling north or south (or even west for that matter) than back east—I have explored there sufficiently for now. At a later date, I expect to be back there, but the near future is held for other newer places. And, it is a great thing, that I am setting up correspondences across the country. I will attempt to get one in Alaska, and maybe even California—just so I have more traveling ease. I am preparing myself for life on the road here in Olympia. Lost my addictions, smoking in particular. Refined my diet, attempting to eat only raw foods (while on the road, rice will be allowed). Tuned my thought patterns to be ready for innumerable experiences, unexplicable beauty, and periods of unbearable (seemingly) loneliness. I am training myself, exercising mind body and soul—preparing for the war of life, always fighting internal forces.

July 24 2000

I met a girl named Chrissy today (Frank introduced her as Sofia) she spent the last three moths in Alaska on a crabbing boat. I want to do so many things right now—write in the book, go to the library, go see Frank, go buy socks, sleep, talk on the phone, so many things. I am second-guessing my dietetics experiment right now—with my lifestyle (the strenuous work and vigorous workouts), my diet (pasta, bread, fruit, nuts, pretty much it!) is not very feasible. It does not affect the theory—humans were not meant to do this labor, you then ask the question: "Machines then, right?" –NO!. We shouldn't be this "advanced" , it creates nothing but poverty, whereas a utopian society (or un-organized society) would have zero poverty because all their energies will be directed toward the task at hand, continuance. "Survival you mean, right?"—NO! In saying "survival" negative connotations such as "survival of the fittest" and "me before you", continuance just means to continue living; we wouldn't need to SURVIVE, because there would be nothing threatening our lives. Our overpopulation is the fault of us attempting to control nature. Aspirin, morphine, Prozac, lithium, body casts, cold medicine, braces, fillings, crowns, etc etc etc. We employ false methods to sustain life, let it be lived and LET IT END WHEN THE TIME COMES!!!!! I have a cold right now, if it should bring my death—so be it; I will partake in no medicine.

July 25 2000

Tiffany called last night, she is coming here in a couple of days. For Ladyfest. She plans to stay at my apartment, but she wont like it. So, I am here at work hanging outside (at 4 in the morning) and this is probably what I will remember most. Being outside, waiting, watching the stars (what few there are on this cloudy night/morning) listening to the rabble complain about where they're at: work. Forget about it, nonviolent protest is not to worry about it because lot in life presents itself, I have no complaints, this is just for now, and I know it. An interjection against my will—taking advantage taking advantage of another's folly to placate my own goodness?!? I cannot believe I allowed those words freedom (what a silly adjective to use when thoughts and beliefs are engulfed by that word) from my mouth. I shall attempt to never take advantage of anything for my own good. That is the basis of life, mine thinking at least, to not take advantage. Why do I not eat meat? Take no advantage of animals. Why do I not litter? Take no advantage of nature. Why do I not smoke? Take no advantage of life! Written on my hand is the phrase: "laugh at simplicity". When I wrote it on my hand it was totally positive, I laugh at how simple my life is—comparatively. As I think more into it, it makes me wonder if it could also say—"laugh at my life, because it is simple". I believe the simpler the better. No grandiose wrappings, no bows or wasted paper, no jewelry and perfume, no politics or economics, just a simple life that anyone could live happily. And I can laugh as I attain it, because laughing and simplicity are both good—put together is great. Math says my life is great. I grow wearier and more despondent everyday I don't receive any word. Does that sound desperate enough? But, in a way, I have gotten word almost everyday—from someone in some way (phone, mail, e-mail, etc)—but not from Alexandria or Robin or Melissa, the girls in my life I am attempting to identify with. I look at the North America map tacked to the wall (w/ tacks representing significant cities) and I realize I am successful. I made it in New York and am making it in Oly. I could make it anywhere, it strikes me, I am successful. All my goal s dreams aspirations seem so farfetched, but not right now, because



July 26 2000

Sleeping in the closet was a change, for the best, I think. I wonder if I have mentioned that I am sick, I have a cold. No medicine, don't believe in it. I thought about calling my Dad last night, but I didn't—I got two calls around 9 p.m., I got up for the first one (as it stopped ringing)—blocked number. I did not get up for the second, believing it would be the same as the first. I don't like blocked numbers, maybe it is Robin, she would call me that late; and I think her number is blocked. Hmmm. I just talked to Bobb about life—sort of. He seems to be very shy, afraid of what he believes, perhaps sad about the life he leads, and my antics cannot help at all. Very soft spoken, to the extent of mumbling, but he holds some decent ideals, as far as I can tell. He wants to go back to 1900, before cars and computers, television and radio (I think), he wants to de-socialize humanity; much in the same way as I. That is a good thing, I picked him out before I started, and it turned out to be more success that failure. He believes, however, and as most people that I have discussed with that age is a life factor. He doesn't think he could live like me as easily as me because of his age. His physical may be weaker because of years, but I would think that mental grows and he has no physical incapacities that I have noted, he would love the traveling life, if only he would give it a chance. So far, today, I have spent $24.77 on food! By far the most in any outing hence forth (save the initial outing). I also got mail today from Alexandria, I am overjoyed, food, fun, Alex, what a great day, I talked more with Bobb at work too. I must say, today is phenomenal, as if all days are less than. I recycled all my newspaper today, I don't work tomorrow until 10 p.m.—which is cool, I can stay up very late tonight, I can get up late tomorrow. I can go to bed again (early, if lucky) and all this can take place in the comfort of my closet.

July 27 2000

Sitting on the toilet, I have decided to write a book (or at least finish one) today. I have three started: Philosophy, Freedom and Diet; Notes on the Furtherment of Society; Anarchy and Other Essays. Journals may be published, but they are collections, not books. Well, it is 3 in the afternoon, and still, I have written no book, I wrote more on the journals, but that is mere transference. I guess it is decent enough, I am satisfied. I sent the 60 page copy via e-mail to my brother—I hope he understands. It is 7:50 now, I have to leave for work in 35 minutes, I talked to Steve for 2.5 hours. We had a good talk—about everything; I told him of my plans to walk to Alaska, across Northern Canada, south through NY, then to Mexico (some way across Amerikkka) into Brazil and then back north to Olympia. I assume it will take about six years, what a great way to spend that time. It will be very exhilarating. I plan to leave in November or May. Whichever is more feasible when November nears. It will most likely be May, grant myself the winter season to collect my thoughts, arrange my personal and attain some health goals. I honestly believe that this plan will follow through and be the best experience of my life. I really cannot wait for the time, perhaps November will be the month of truth. Drop out of society, sociatilized life all together for six years and then magically reappear with a wonderful story and experiences, tell people all about not wearing deodorant for six years, living in the wild. Man, oh man, I cannot wait. I am shaking with delight just running unknown thoughts of this monumental undertaking that is only beginning to take shape currently. So I am now sitting at Target with 15 minutes before I can start work. Let us do a character sketch, haven't for awhile. Ready? A middle-aged Korean man is directly in front of me. I see him often—night janitor at Target. He probably immigrated here from Korea in the late 70's or early 80's, came into Seattle….on the boat over, he met his (now wife) partner. She is here every night, vacuuming. They secured janitorial jobs in the city just after their arrival, they got a small apartment and relations began soon after. Together they worked, lived, ate, slept everyday. It was consensually decided that short separation would be in boths best interest. He moved to Tacoma, she to Olympia. Ironically, they both secured night jobs at separate Targets—janitorial, of course. We are around the early 90's now, when he is transferred to Olympia Target, and rediscovers his lost love after 3 or 4 years of separation. They immediately marry, move and begin the life they left so many years ago. New, secure love prevails.---------Rather sorry, Target closes in five minutes—see yah's afta!

July 28 2000

This day is excellent, I feel magnanimous. I got home from work around 7 a.m., after riding downtown for that hour (5:15 a.m.-6:15 a.m.) it was excellent. I got home, tired beyond belief (and, I will admit, a little peeved—newspaper had not yet arrived). I did some things, before I realized I was ultimately exhausted, thus retiring my spent body to the closet for rehabilitation. I woke around 10 minutes after 1 p.m. Peeking out the door, my spirits rose—the newspaper had arrived! Wait, today is Friday (I thought to myself) payday—I might catch the 1:17 bus. I didn't. Hopped on the bike, rode downtown, caught the 48 bus—wait a second, upon leaving my apartment, I checked the mail. Mail from Alexandria, mail from Poetry.Com. They want to publish my poetry in "Natures Echoes" more power to them! So, I hop on the 48, ride to Value Village, then bike from there to Target. So, I got my paycheck, went to the bank and cashed it. Then I rode back downtown to the always fun and entertaining: Farmers Market. I ate an all vegetarian Indian plate and bought various fruits and some spices/herbs. It was closing, so I caught the next bus 2:45 p.m. home. It might have been the 3:15 p.m. bus, not important, instead of going home, I went straight to the library. I had a great e-mail from Rob, that was about it there. I went home and read the paper. My horoscope said something about saving money, but there was a Ladyfest schedule and I had the idea that I would just go and buy a ticket ($55). I hopped back on my bike and rode downtown. I went to Oly World News, but I remembered what my horoscope said and decided against buying the ticket. I hung out there for awhile and read a backpacker magazine. I thought I should go check out some gear, that took some time. Then I went to Frank's, to relax, but there was a meeting so I hung outside until my bus arrived. I had a horrible thought/desire on the bus. There was a slightly retarded couple talking loudly enough for the entire bus to follow in detail. Their conversation was annoying and their speech was underdeveloped, I really wanted to slap them both and tell them to shut-up. I am not perfect, I have impure thoughts, but Alexandria says I am better than average because I recognize and attempt to dispel these thoughts/desires. Overall, today has been very enlightening and, well, magnanimous. But, it is still not over. Honestly, who could conceive a life like mine? I don't mean who can live it, anyone can, but who could plan it without being on the trail. I am always astounded when I think where I am now, where I have been, where I am going—there is so much uncertainty in life, I wonder who doesn't look back on life like this? I only assume that most people spy their past much later in life, I am 20 years old and already astounding my mind with my past (and inherent future). I only want peace of mind, once I can find and achieve that, I think I will be contented. As always, however, I am unsure—scared. This life. I am reading the printed version of "Journals" and I am realizing how significant smoking was in my life. I haven't smoked for over a month, and it seems so insignificant now. It is weird how quickly change is implemented, and inspiring—I hope the ultimate societal changes I envision will work out as quickly as my ending smoking. And, I also think that if Joe is reading this now, he has a weird picture of me.

July 29 2000

Just a couple days until the arrival of Tiffany, and Ladyfest. I am un-prepared, I do not know what to do—I made some excellent pasta sauce with fresh/organic mushrooms, cilantro, tomato, three different sweet/mild peppers and some other organic herbs. It was heaven, I am going to make my own food whenever possible, or plausible (I do not eat many prepared foods now, I subside largely on fresh fruit from the Farmers Market). I am working overnight again tonight. Ten p.m.-whenever, probably 6 or 8 a.m. for right now, that is life and soon I will rid myself of meaningless existence and do something with my life besides spitting on concrete. I was thinking about the circle of life today. Trees will one day grow through the roads and houses, nature will overcome man. Man usurps nature to the extent that soon nature will give up—man cannot survive without nature. After man extincts themselves, nature will re-emerge and become life. That is not a circle, that is more like a square—sharp turns. I am pretty sure that my species is to blame, not nature. I am kind of ashamed because of it and soon I will attempt to overcome my commonality with average humans—soon I will attempt to be one with nature. I cleaned my entire apartment, in anticipation of arrival. I vacuumed, borrowed my neighbours. I found some bread that I bought the other day and totally forgot about. I am glad I did, I remarked to myself today how I haven't had bread for some time, subsisting solely on fruit and nuts (I did have some pita bread in the week that has passed). Today, I ate some pasta—I am very proud of the sauce—and, the bread (I didn't want it to be wasted). I think, now, I will abstain from bread for awhile, a long while, perhaps forever. fruitarian. It will be tough to keep that up on the trail and travel, but, as always, I attempt. And I wrote Alexandria a letter, all about pain and death and how apparent they are in my life. It was disgustingly truthful. All about hate, how I am against myself, how this life, my life, is the hardest life I have ever led and I am now unsure where I want to go, and how I can now never lead a "normal" life, I cannot simply forget the truths I know, I cannot just let them go unnoticed. I have my beliefs tattooed on my arms Anarchy and Equality, Peace and Freedom. I cannot forget or leave those truths that are so clear in my minds eye, I cannot just start eating meat again, forgetting all that I have learned. I cannot stop this life, I have passed the point of no return, I was born. And now, here I am, I have fought to become my own director, actor, agent , and producer and I have accomplished that for awhile now, and I cannot resell the life I bought with conviction and truth. I can only be me.

July 30 2000

Hopefully, tomorrow, I can get to the library and I can update my manuscript to encompass up to yesterday, I will be satisfied. I worked on it today—we are 72 pages now, which is phenomenal, for a kid like me, and I am ecstatic. Tiffany supposedly arrives tomorrow too, she should probably call me sometime tonight, from the port or something. It is so unbearably hot in my apartment, I am sweating uncontrollably—it is disgusting. I work so much, now. In working, I mean bicycling, writing, and target, life is hard work, killing oneself is easy, living is the challenge. Once I figure out how to get dreadlocks, I am going to make them. I think that if I just stop washing my hair it will eventually get knappy and dread. I also know that there is something that can be put in your hair to form them. I want to go the most natural way. I will look funny with dreadlocks, but that is okay—I am a funny guy. And, so, Tiffany just called and she is not going to stay with me, she is staying at a hotel. I talked to Mike too, which was rough—the guy isn't much for small talk. Mikes advice for dreadlocks, just stop combing my hair. I can wash and rinse, just not comb. Seems simple, but I am going to not wash for awhile and see what happens. I will get it wet, just wont put anything in there (shampoo-conditioner)! You know, just another weird thought, I wonder if the band members of Sleater-Kinney will stay with their parents while in town. The moon is partially eclipsing the sun right now. I was looking directly at it for a couple of minutes, I know I am not supposed to. It is pretty uneventful (and bright) you couldn't tell unless you were staring right at it. One day, I hope I can see a full eclipse, that would be beautiful.

July 31 2000

I saw two (count 'em—one, two) shooting stars on my way to work. It was excellent. It is so hard to describe a shooting star, it only lasts for one second, but it is very inspirational, invigorating—it made me think of Alexandria. I am so tired. I work so much, it is nearly unbearable. I am falling asleep on my feet , pushing carts and dying. Falling down. Not only my pants, my body, my mind, my life. I am stuck on Alexandria, I thought about moving to Chicago, and seeing if she would live with me—together; eventually, I came to my senses and realized that I will probably never go back to live in Chicago. Today is really Monday, who could think that a day (Monday usually signifies a two-day beard and griping, lateness), who knows where that thought was headed. I feel like I have worked for a week straight, and then I was called in today and I am even more tired because my body expects rest but receives torture. And such is my life, Tiff and I missed each other today, oh well, I will catch up with her tomorrow. My journals are coming along really well, a lot of truth in them, all truth—it is funny, because this is part of the journal. It is tough to write and compile at the same time, thoughts get mixed up. That is why I started these journals so long after I got here. NY was not out of my system at all and it would have been excessive vomit filler recapturing what I thought in NY with Oly twist. Perhaps, one day, I can turn each entry—each idea—into its own book, elaboration. That would be successful and astounding (in author eyes).

Aug. 1 2000

Happy August, it seems only yesterday I was a child, in the womb dreading August. So many things to dislike about this month (for children), and one more for me: I was born this month, a dreadful affair. I do not like birthdays, my birthday, why would anyone want to celebrate my consciousness? Makes no sense. Here, there are not many worries, outside of work, I am the only person that knows I was born this month. Yeah, at work they have a card—for people that don't know me, and I don't know—to be signed. I really hope they make no fuss about it, this can be the first year I agonize in peace. Aside from the unhappiness I correlate with this month, I am wildly happy today. Because Tiffany is here? Because Ladyfest is on? Because I am at work? Who knows. I am just happy, maybe I will get mail today (from Alexandria, Steve, or Rob) and excite my happiness to levels unknown. Or, this high I have now could wear away before I leave work, let alone get my mail. I must return library books, do not want late charge. A hunger is washing over my body, my stomach growls "you fed me so much before", I can only agree and attempt to enlighten my stomach about starving homeless people. I do not need food, neither does my stomach—we can subside in nature without usurping any gifts. We just need to learn how. I even ate quite a bit yesterday, two servings of my Indian/rice/bean combo, one serving of pasta with homemade sauce, and a mango. Wow, as I look at it, it is a huge amount, because I also consumed nuts throughout the day, and three slice (four!) of cantaloupe. I probably took in 1500 calories yesterday, maybe more. Five o'clock and still no Tiffany, here I am, waiting, outside the Midnight Sun, half a block away (I do not belong at a womyns festival, I am a man—makes me think of Valerie Solanas). But, still, where is that girl, she likes art. This is an art exhibit, and it is free! I figured she, here, would be. Ladyfest, so many girls—would like to see me die—I always used to purport the fact that I am a feminist; I believe in womyns liberation, and suffrage, not their segregation. Why should they wish separation, in Gandhi's eyes: one that would spite you, repay with kindness. And should it not be that way? Let us aim for equality, not separation and segregation. Looking for a riotgrrrl at Ladyfest is easy, looking for Tiffany is not—it is impossible. I would just feel horrible if she were just here for seven days and we couldn't contact each other. A riotgrrrl in a haystack and I am out of place. Now, waiting outside Capitol Theatre. I will see the show tonight, with or without Tiffany. Hopefully she'll stroll by and say "Yo!", I haven't seen her in three moths, to the day. It would be symbolic if we met up today, and I wouldn't mind seeing the Butchies and the Bangs, if only to say that I have. I didn't get the mail I expected today, instead, all I received was a power bill—I don't even need power, let us implement complete fruitarianism unity equality anarchy love peace now. And this festival should revolve around equality, but it doesn't and that is sad. It is weird, I don't even really know what she looks like now, Tiffany. And all these girls just look at me as if to say "what are you doing here" and I can only respond with the "I am just a spectator" look. And that is the extent. Totally, just a spectator, they all stare at me like a criminal (or perhaps an angel), but it suits my pessimism to assume they dislike me. Well, I met Tiffany, and I did kind of forget what she looked like, it was cool though, I am happy. I have a friend (not from Olympia) in Olympia, I have been attempting this since I got here, it is amazing. I really love concerts. I should come to them more often. This is the first concert I have been to since Fishbone. I am seeing Quixotic, The Bangs, The Butchies, Nomy Lamm, and Spider. It is dark in here and I cant see, hence the flip-flop anti-writing writing. And I really was right about the unraveling of unity the "Ladyfest" would bring about. Day one, concert: Capitol Theatre; Misty Fine—starts chant, "fuck the east coast", girls next to me enthusiastically go along—soon the entire crowd; end of song: one word: UNITY—what a fucking misnomer, unity, not ladies only. So, I left after Misty Fine, missing Ida, Nomy Lamm, and The Butchies (whom I'd've loved to see). Everything works out perfectly. On the bus home, I met (really just talked) to a cute girl. It was good to just babble for awhile. Tiffany kept saying how well, healthy, I looked. She said I must've "lost some weight". It was good talking to her too. A Leo loves compliments, Peace. Unity. Night.

Aug. 2 2000

I sewed my pants today. I think it was the first time I've sewn since "sewing hour" when I first moved to NY. At least I still know how. I wish Tiffany would contact me, before my departure (to the library), so I can, we can, make some plans for later this evening and tomorrow. I will just go to her hotel again. So I went to the hotel and I got her, we went to Traditions Café for lunch (vegan enchiladas) then I walked her to Praxis for a panel on Alternative Menstrual Products, supposedly she wants to start having her period again. Then I went to the library, then Franks (Java Flow), now the bus, next, work—ughh. I got the "Transfused" CD from Tiff, I will tape it. I will get off work around 8, which is weird, I will spend four hours inside and there will still be an hour of daylight –that is really odd. So, at Traditions, Tiffany and I had a really good talk, I imagined her thinking she were talking to the person she used to talk to when I lived in Chicago and we hadn't met each other. Talking about not being able to meet people, about exercise, about gay fetishes, about openness, about life, about beauty, about anarchy and everything I care about. Beauty. Maybe she never talked to that person in me, perhaps that part was born in NY and we never really had heart to hearts then (I am desperate, in a way, now, too), and we should have—this is make-up time. She said that her Mom still likes me, too. That is excellent, I am very happy to learn that she hasn't disregarded me. Beth wants Tiffany to move out here, close to me, and I wouldn't mind. She could go to evergreen and I could move back in with her and we could re-establish/continue our reign, we did well in NY together. So now I am outside the Java Flow listening to Narcotics (Anonymous) bitch bitterly about money, I am waiting for Tiffany. It was really weird getting off of work while the sun still shines. Barely now. I don't have to work tomorrow, so I would love to hook up with Tiffany and hang out for one last (maybe) glorious evening, I like being with her, most of the time. She is a very radiant being, fun and fearless too. Frank says my spirit is about 500 years in the future because of my nature beliefs and ideals, because of my yearning for peace and freedom, because I like trees. I fear that 500 years from now will be too late, but it would be awesome if my being (believing) could survive that long. I met a punk from Seattle—Matt, and his friend, Abby—he had a Casualties patch on, and I told him the Meggers story. I struck up the conversation. Maybe I do contain some social skills. Tonight felt very right, when Tiffany and I were just walking and talking, even when she left and I was "moving" her booklets, tonight was a right night, it is nearing mid- which means no more to- and bed.

Aug. 3 2000

I spent all day w/ Tiffany. We went to the Farmers Market + ate Indian food. We went to a panel about grass roots community resources, then I made her a slushie at Franks. He even allowed me to use the cash register, to handle his money—he is so trusting and that is a very beautiful thing, I really am lucky. My goal this month is to have $380 in my closet by the 16th, ironically my birthday. I am just trying to bind myself to saving, if I get $380 that leaves two paychecks in August I can basically save (excepting $40.00 for phone + electric, and various food money). I wrote Steve today and made him a Transfused/Macaw bootleg. Added some new journals and vegan info, I am going to send an eclectic multimedia package to him tomorrow. He better enjoy it. Hopefully I can pay him back this month w/ the $ I'll save. I love this soundtrack, it is so beautiful + real, I cannot see how anyone would dislike it (except the ceo's of "corporations" across the globe). It is so late and I should be in bed. I just have so much to do, so much I want to do at least. It just passed 12 and I am still up. Alexandria called me. Wow. We talked for three hours + a half. It was really wonderful and I could sit here for two more hours and write about it but I have to get up for work in 2.5 hours, what a sad state of affairs. Peace.

Aug. 4 2000

As I thought, I am dead tired today. But, we had a wonderful night, amazing. I really couldn't even recite many of the things we talked about, I was in ecstasy—I was talking to Alex for the first time. I could've stayed on the line w/ her well past now, it would take so long for me to run out of things to tell her, ways to tell them. I swear that girl is beautiful. It was awkward at first, as I imagined—real-time me is different than collected-thought-on-paper me, but not much. I was scared she would talk to me once and think I fake the whole political side, thus making her hate me for lying (but I'm really not). I am very happy for the way the puzzle played, there are a few more border pieces (like meeting), but inside is done, as far as I can tell. Tiffany and I just ate Tempeh at Voyeur, it was nice. We met a lady very interested in Trans-issues and she tagged along while I walked Tiff to Arrowspace for a trans-panel. It was cool, I am now headed to Target to get my paycheck, always hoping that I can meet my savings goals. I have listened to the Transfused soundtrack at least 10 times in the last 3 days I have had it, that is a lot. For someone who isn't home much, that is three times in the limited space I am here. I got so much mail today too! A letter from Alexandria, and one from Steve (w/ pictures + a bracelet). That made me happy. I am really tired (only 2 hours sleep) and I think now is prime departure to slumber.

Aug. 5 2000

Bike-jogging—what is it? It is how I travel most of the time now. I have taken to riding my bike—without using my hands—as much as possible. I crouch down, and act like I am jogging on my bike. This works very well. It works my legs and upper body, it also looks really cool, and I am getting excellent at riding without hands. I dreamt about Melissa last night, she got married—not to me. I have been having visions all morning about talking with her, about art aesthetic. And, about calling her, letting her know how I feel, I think the last letter she read turned her off completely. She definitely hates me now. I think I will buy a phone card today, and call a bunch of people, including her. My thoughts have also been dwelling on Alexandria and Steve, I have been thinking about the offer I made for them to live w/ me. I stand strong next to it. Steve asked if he could co-author "Philosophy Freedom and Diet", I am all for it! Damn, I wish I could spend all of life at the Farmers Market listening to Peace + Unity songs. And this is what I want out of life. I wish my friends could be here to experience this life. These people (around me) really don't know how lucky they are to have this Freedom Peace and Unity festival four days a week. "Let the mighty river (nature) take your little life in tow." Why don't we? We can control the rivers, and most of nature, but life really cannot be about control. If life is about control, then to have a meaningful life one would attempt to control as much and adverse as possible (i.e. slaves + stock options—you know?). Seeing as though we have made progressive steps (ending slavery, globally), my perception is that we are moving in the right direction, however slowly we move. Like Frank said my soul is 500 yrs ahead of its time, my beliefs are progressive and should be given consideration (to say the least). My life should be a declaration of the future—one day, someone may remember me as a "progressive anarchist", "unoffensive aggressor in the movement of life", "someone who could really perceive beauty + utopia, and doctrinated a loose script that can be referenced". Someone may just remember me and that is awesome in itself.

Aug. 6 2000

So, I think I may have seen a ghost, from outside of Target in the distance. That is not important, importance is the correlation between Nature + Spirituality, which may be a chapter in "PF+D". Things are shaping up w/ that, and it excites me. I believe that one day there will be a great evolution, hopefully soon, and I think the ideals I hold now are going to be a major part of the shape. I am glad I can think these things, dreaming is the root of change. When I applied at Target, I was in search of a managerial position, today it was offered—I am management material. That is what corporate life does to you, it erodes your self until you become merely material, expendable, kind of like the cows they eat for lunch. So, I respectfully declined, for now. One day it may be necessary for me to join corporate ranks in an effort to sustain, maintain, and continue certain ideals. Today, I don't need to, at least I don't think I do, and for right now I wont. It is partly inspired by Bobb, but mostly inspired by the Transfused. "The blood in my veins aint the blood of a slave"-Sid. The only reason I would accept a higher level, is the "to show people I can, but don't really want to" reason. That reasoning, the way I perceive can need + want, has bailed me out of a few arguments, and has a good social acceptance (it is easily understandable, but not truly understood). Tiffany + I have parted paths again, I—we may never meet again, I am grateful for the time we have enjoyed. I almost past out at work today, it was really horrible. Something, in my eating habits, is out of whack. I almost threw up too, and I am suffering from diarrhea. Such a bad day, so I am going to start eating more non-fruit, like oatmeal + bread + pasta + rice, in an effort to sustain my caloric intake + my bodily needs (vitamins and minerals). It is because of all this strenuous work; according to my fruitarian/utopian outlook such meaningless work is void. The body is not put through any more strain than required to keep the body fit. I just ate one of those meals I heard about when I was a child, but thought fairy-tale: oatmeal w/ cinnamon and fresh blueberries. When I was a child there were always freeze dried blueberries, canned blueberries, cinnamon/sugar, but no fresh blueberries in oatmeal w/ cinnamon. Oh so tasty, yum.

Aug. 7 2000

I woke up today at 3:50 am, Tiffany was halfway to the airport, I should've been at work—for five minutes at least. I called Target, "I am not coming in", I said. I don't think they get lines like that, at least not before the excuse; "I have diarrhea and wont make it to work w/out shitting my pants on my bike." I told them I would come in around 8. I came in at 8:30. I really don't think this corporation is used to a worker like me: very dependable, agreeable, and willing—also, autonomous. They really don't want to fire me, and if I would just pledge allegiance, I could run my own store in 4 years. Too bad, they don't understand that I don't want that, not until I work this path I am on now and see how far I can take it and it me—until I can see if my ideals can also be my reality. If that fails, I can always come back to Target Corp and own my own store in 4 years. My losing clause is the of many peoples winning clauses; I set my sights very high. I must be out of my head. I left this book sitting out in the Target Corporation Breakroom, there is enough evidence in here for me to be fired. I have never been fired, I quit. Whoever looked into here while I was away must've thought me kooky. The odd thing is, though, my name appears nil in the book, and they don't really know who to think kooky, but one day they will see me scribbling in here and remember, "He's kooky!" And I guess I am, in a way. My biking is so rigorous, it is funny. I have a median average of seven miles per day; 5 to work, 2 to the bus station, it is a give + take ratio. I sweat so much, it isn't funny, the two cups of water I drink at work do not compensate the water I lose. I smell too, whether or not I put on deodorant. No matter, I smell the same, I have basically stopped using as a result. All of these things, they are horrible to mass society. I do not care about the standards, stigmas, and/or regulations of mass society, we are on my island now—enjoy the smell. I got a letter from Alexandria, coolness—I responded w/ a letter that tells her why I doubt her. It is all good, she will understand my brutal honesty, my encouragement. I also sent old papers; an essay, "Violence is Violence"; a not to Shannon, "Fear of Attachment"; and a pseudo-journal entry in a book that is not my journal and undated. I like her as an outlet. I send her all my old writings, kind of like safe-keeping—she will always be there.

Aug. 8 2000

I figured out the cause of my diarrhea, pineapple. I ate some last night, and right afterwards braaaaah—on the toilet. No more mass pineapple, no more diarrhea (which I really have no idea how to spell). And, I was late for work again today. To me, it is no bother. They still allow me to work as much as I want. I wonder why I allow myself to stay here, I really do not like it—perhaps tomorrow I will look for a nice job in downtown Oly, at a small shop that is more open to my desires—but the money I can make here at Christmas is alluring. Time magazine says Olympia is hip, and I read the article + (in a way) live the life; also, I want to start writing letters to Chelsea Clinton, when I was a kid + Billy just got into office, all my friends + I laughed over how ugly she was, I was faking it to be accepted. I like her + would like to get to know her. Maybe I'll start writing soon. I know I am very indecisive, with my where + what + why and changing outcome, but I really want to stay and meet people here. I really want to have friends + life in Olympia. I am sitting in Oly World News, reading vegan recipes + Poetry, why don't I talk to someone? Spider is upstairs, and I love her, her character at least. She was in the Transfused. And she started a dance troupe in Highland, IN. I could talk to her for awhile, I think. My pizza sauce experiment has failed (round 1), it is horrible. I do not know why, perhaps too much garlic—fresh garlic next time, and oregano. It is so late, it is 10:30 (last night I woke up at this time for a little air—promptly returning to somber). I don't have to work till 4 tomorrow, so I am milking my late-night time, but not for very long.

Aug. 9 2000

I wrote a letter to Steve, I infused some poetry, and now I am on my way to work. Blah. I am saddened, because the Oly library is closed + the Tumwater one allows one hour maximum per day. I need more than one hour to refine my art. I ate wild blackberries today, oh so good. I may go pick some in bulk + use them in my oatmeal. I also started thinking + writing a special zine reminiscent of "The Cold Page" that would be free at OlyWa. I wrote the mission statement/disclaimer/declaration for it today, it will (as all works from now on) be printed by PAAEP press w/ copyrights. I remember all throughout high school my teachers telling me that I wouldn't have a problem pursuing a writing career. Now, I know—I never gave it much thought then, but I don't have any real personal problems about being a writer. I have publishing + direction + not-real problems, I procured a cigarette from work and am smoking it. Like King Lamus. I am not re-addicted, I do not need to smoke, it is just something I can do and I wanted to see what it would be like again. It was fun, I will admit it, it ate up a few minutes of time that seems so endless right now, and filler helps to well, fill the time.

Aug. 10 2000

I wrote 5 lengthy letters today; two by computer, three by hand. Computer: to BeeJay, about friendship, traveling, life + love; that girl, about loneliness + no friends in Oly (enticing her to say "okay, lets be friends"). Hand: to Alexandria, w/ copies of "the Cold Page", about collaboration poetry + the normal stuff, to Steve, about collaboration poetry + writing; to Rob, about life + collaboration poetry. About collaboration poetry: I sent them (hand) each a stanza from "Draggin SUV's"—I want them each to write a new stanza, send back, repeat. It should be beautiful + wonderful, but it could fall apart—who knows? My break is in sight, at OlyWa B to P and I think I'll take it. But, alas, and as always, I didn't. So I have to sit here again at OTC listen to little boys make fun of mentally challenged, and it is sad. Today was not a good day, it is very sad, lethargic, slow, I really don't like it. I think tomorrow I will have the very very near-complete model of only my poems. It just doesn't sound as exciting as it feels. It will be really cool, by the end of the month I should have a chap-book—the deadline is the 15th of September. I am very excited, the best thing about today.

Aug. 11 2000

It felt good, exhilarating, to ride to work this morning. It was the first time in about 5 days, maybe six. W/ oatmeal, I have leveled off my diet. The broth helps too. Yes, new chapters in dietic experiments. I am eating bread, oatmeal, and veggie stock soup broth regularly now (still eating fruit). I was thinking about buying dishes today. And how nice it would be to eat my oatmeal at a table out of a bowl? Also thought about hiking HWY 101 south. I do too much thinking. I went to the store + spent $5.58 more than I should have. And I should really pay my power bill, but who really needs it anyway? Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I am overwhelmed. When I hear of people that think + believe as I, I am astonished + overwhelmed by how beautiful they are; when I look in the mirror, I expect to see one of them, instead it is just me—unexpectedly. I have a very poor self-image. I think that is the last barrier, the last stone, the last jump. Beyond that wall lies salvation, freedom, me. How I would love (and how I long) to be beautiful. Once, when I was a salesman for A.J.S., I walked into an AA meeting, quickly I removed myself. In that instant, thoughts of usurption ran fervently through my mind. "My product will whisk you away from depressive alcohol addiction, buy!" I saved a piece of my soul that day, and truly realized: Capitalism is Cannibalism.

Aug. 12 2000

Riding home from work this morning, at 4 am. I couldn't stay till 6 because I about fell asleep standing. Riding, I had a deja-vu thought of me being shot. I started to remember everything that was about to happen, and visions of a man w/ a silver gun shooting me through the right side of my head—he was in a bus stop cubicle. I was kind of scared, and what if there are three sequence deja-vu's, 1. You imagine a place 2. Later in life you are in the place, remembering your imaginations, and more come about (images) 3. Those new images become reality very soon. Or, maybe that is a breakdown of life's wish-fulfillment clause/pact one has w/ oneself. You imagine something (dream) then you make it reality, and the process resumes. Enough of that, homemade Lentil soup is awesome. I am one hell of a chef. And I ate a lot today—1 loaf of bread, 1 bowl of granola (w/soy milk), 1 bowl lentil soup, 3 bananas. Didn't get any mail, and my phone has not rung in days. On another positive note, revisions to my chapbook are done. All that is left is printing it in pamphlet form (getting it to work)—it should be about 32 full pages, 64 half pages, 128 pamphlet pages! It will probably turn out to be less, but it is still very…..good.

Aug. 13 2000

Ah, the joys of life. I have been riding this bike day in/out for over a month, I finally learned how to use it. It is a mountain bike, I couldn't make it halfway up Somerset Hill before today. (I made it about ¾ today). I used the gears! I dropped a few gears going uphill, it makes more rotations, but it is easier. I always thought more = more; more rotations = more work. I guess in a way, it is—but I should accomplish a goal soon! Biking through Somerset hill, no walking, it should be completed by the end of the week. Also, my first chapbook should be ready for printing by the end of the week. And my twentieth birthday is in the middle of the week. So, if I survive past my birthday, two goals should be completed this week! I have had horrible gas all day, I blame it on the lentils. I don't mind it, I am sure some people would look at me and say that I have a smelly arse, it is the truth. Welcome my smelly arse into the picture, at least I have regular bowel movements, and food does not rot in my stomach, at least I am healthy and vegan. Too bad I cant meet anyone. BeeJay e-mailed me back and said "no" to beans, "yes" to camaraderie. He said he would call. That girl did not email me back, and we have yet to hear from the other principles. And I wrote Steve again today, w/ an art piece titled: Culture. With a bunch of local fliers newsletters cutouts + a live mixed recording of Oly bands. It turned out really well, thinks me. I have hit a dry spell in writing about "the movement", but I have been living the diet.

Aug. 14 2000

I am beginning to dislike my mornings. It is so cold outside at 3:00 am, it is probably between 35-45 degrees; w/ the speed that I travel, it is only 25-35 degrees. I know that is warm to some people, but I don't expect this iciness when I awake at 2:25 am. It catches me off-guard, I imagine it to be 55 degrees outside, and my entire journey be downhill. Yeah, these rides really take their toll on my muscles, they are very sore and the continuous strain I put them through is no help. I made a "to do" list for today, but left it at home. That was not something I planned to do. Completed item 1 on the absent to do list, cash check. The teller gave me a hard time + I didn't like it. I put up w/ it though. I have been eating Otis Spunkmeyer bagels (from Target) at target for the last few days. I just learned today that they are safe + good for me. 15% daily calcium, 210 calories, no cholesterol or animal products—I am happy. The last draft is the hardest + most rewarding. The final copy (before mass) of "People w/ Papers" is in my hands, sort of. For printing I have to back to back the pages w/ tape + steady fingers, I hope it turns out okay. It turned out okay, there were spacing errors + the like, so I'll have to redo it. And, for some odd reason, I've begun to collect receipts. It is a good way to remember parts of a day that one would otherwise quickly forget about. I am making mixed bean soup right now, w/ curry powder. A weird mix + I hope it finishes well, the beans are taking an awfully long time.

Aug.15 2000

I dreamt of dying again, vividly. I was in a parking lot to a restaurant next to a cliff. There was a car that I and my attacker were in. We were in military fatigues. We looked to be best of friends, then I got out of the car, then he. He proceeded to behind me and thrust a dagger in my upper center back. I turned and looked at him. He is someone I know not yet. I mumbled some things and he started crying. He sat down Indian style, waiting for me to forgive. I reached in my backpack (the same one I own now: German Rucksack) and fumbled around, eventually revealing a grenade. He was not surprised, he didn't move—and there was a crowd now, that came from inside the restaurant. I de-pinned the grenade, lay it in front of him and walked away; the knife is still lodged in my back. To my knowledge, the grenade never went off. I sat facing everyone, about 100 feet from the action, and nothing happened. Shortly, a waitress came up to me and said I had to vacate the parking lot—no loitering. There was still a crowd. Then I woke up. If this rings true, my ideals will drastically change in the next few years, to embrace violence and destruction as a means to the end—the grenade not going off shows that this is obviously the wrong path and proves the corruptibility of humans, even me. One more thing, the knife was silver, just like the gun from the previous night. I kinda wish everyone except Steve and Rob and Alexandria would just forget about me for awhile. So what, I turn twenty tomorrow, no reason for Target to make me a card—forget about it. It seems like everyone (save three) have basically forgotten about me since I moved here, but they will remember tomorrow, and I wish they wouldn't. They don't really care, jut want to be nice. In my eyes, the nicest thing is the truth. Tell me you don't care, tell me you don't like me, tell me I am fat, tell me I am ugly—I will respect you more for being honest. I got pulled over again today—obviously, I can be cited for riding a bike in the middle of the lane. Peaceful Protest, Passive Resistance. Sooner or later I will have to mention that tomorrow is my birthday—BLAH. My Dad emailed and called. I didn't respond and wasn't home. My Mom sent me a card, I threw it away. I wrote a book, the first mass press (5) took place today, Happy Birthday. The book is called "People w/ Papers (on buses to nowhere)". I love it. I beat my goal by a month exactly. I faltered a different goal in the process—I will only have $320 saved (compared to the goal of $380) by tomorrow. Money is nothing, compared to art. So much writing and reading today, wrote three—4—letters, Rob, Alexandria, Steve and now Melissa. She deserves it.

Aug. 16 2000

Well, Happy Birthday. I made three more copies of "People w/ Papers", and now I am at the skate park waiting for work, passing time, living, enjoying. I spent about two hours watching the skaters at the park—it was beautiful, and I want the rollerblades again. Went to work, no hassle—did my job and will do it tomorrow, that is life. For some god awful reason (maybe to prove that I still could) I bought a pack of cigarettes and am smoking. This sucks. And I am not good at it anymore, I suck. This is part of my 3-part birthday present—1. my books 2. cigarettes (for the last time hopefully) 3. Indian food, tomorrow, after work, lunch buffet, at Tandoori. That is all I expect, if my Dad offers me something I will ask him to send those old TRS Lightning rollerblades and I will leave for work two hours early every morning and I will rollerblade at the skate park from 2 am till 3:30 am. If he cant find them, so be it. If my mom offers I will ask for some cash if available, or a juicer. On the bus home I thought that Steve's number would be recited at *69. It was, called at 6:34 p.m. So my day is over now, I went an entire birthday, never once hearing "Happy Birthday" consciously that is what I wanted. Subconsciously, I am sad. Removing oneself from societal norms is tough, and I am torn. It would have made me extremely happy to be acknowledged, but as they say: Be careful what you wish for, you may get it.

Aug. 17 2000

Happy Birthday, Rob. I got up to 35 mph today. On my bike. Beautiful, freezing, but still good. What a great day. I love my book, I just read it, again. So, after work I came home and stopped to pick wild blackberries on the way. They are for tomorrow's oatmeal. I wrote Tiffany and BeeJay, mailed them the second press. Supposedly I have a package at Oly USPS but I cannot pick it up until tomorrow. Then I went to the library, checked my mail—nothing spectacular. Then I got to hang and talk with Frank for two hours, it was a good talk, we talked about oppression and food and other things. Now I am home again, writing has been tough lately, I don't know why. I want it to be new and because I have been fumbling with this book so much I am over-critical of the new words scribed in an effort to not repeat myself. I am still smoking, about three yesterday, and probably five today. I will not buy a pack after this, I promise. I am going to give up now—wait, I also cleaned my apartment and shaved!—but not completely, side burns and goat exist.

Aug. 18 2000

Looking to the Future. I think I'll start titling these entries. Make a plan for the day—a thought to run by, early in the morning and see how well I can stick to it throughout the day. I am looking to the future now, because I cannot wait until I get the first critique of my book. The first press should be dropping on people today or tomorrow—responses should be in about a week, but because I fixed my phone yesterday I will be able to call people on the 22nd, I think that is Monday, but I don't really know, and neither do I care. I am looking to the future, because great things are going to start happening soon, and they should include me. PAAEP has been created and used, that is great—it will be used so much more in my future (plans) it is not funny. So I got the package from my dad, $150 two 40 minute phone cards and an answering machine. I talked politics on the phone with him—first time, ever. I am mailing him a book tomorrow. My tape player broke and I am okay with it.

Aug. 19 2000

I don't see color or hair length, I see bodies and souls and people. I don't see hatred or distrust and I think that when more eyes are opened to this blindness, we will be much better off. On cars: Do you vote for getting there in a shorter time and being here (earth) a shorter time; or to be here (earth) longer and ride a bike. Every now and again I smoke a cigarette, that is my contribution to pollution. I talked to Steve for hours again, it is always beautiful when we mass our minds—together. And I sent my book to my Dad, we will see what happens.

Aug. 20 2000

Atop the hill overlooking Capitol Lake, reading poetry and living life, this day has started to shape into beauty—but the end is near. I am very much planning long-term living here in Olympia. So much that I am planning to buy things for an apartment I have, not yet. And, the location of this apt. is even undecided—somewhere in Olympia, perhaps on the West Side, preferably close to Target. I want a formidable apartment that will have a couch, a TV and a blender. A juicer, maybe. I want to have friends over for parties and vegetables, I want a garden. I want something more normal/tangible right now. Want Want Want, I sound like a prick, but I want roots.

Aug. 21 2000

It is 2:17 in the morning and I am at work, in a way it is still yesterday. I was thinking here, too. Mostly about old friends, particularly about Melissa. I was thinking about how in NY I attempted to totally severe ties with friends in Chicago, all of them. Now, in Olympia I am doing my best to mend the parts that I broke, continue new ones made, and keep up with all of them. It is rough, being so far away and trying to keep everything in (con)tact. I am not doing a great job, in fact, my NY goal is zeroing, coming closer to completion. I think I may have passed the point of no return with a few of them and am just now realizing it. Today is NY day—for me. Sitting outside Target at 4:30 a.m., I am reminded of the Yonkers Cinema parking lot where I believe I wrote the poem "five fires of the sky" from People w/ Papers. Twice, this morning, I have been reminded of NY times—a flushing of the system perhaps. I got another letter from poetry.com, they want to publish "a veil pulled over life" now. More power to them. I walked in the Garfield Park Natural Rain Forest Preserve Park today, it was exhilarating—I love nature. And I just got a hang-up phone call, weird.

Aug. 22 2000

It can be said that I am decided. I am going to stay in Olympia after my lease ends. Tough decision (open roads and I'm unsure), but I think this will offer the most goodness for my life. I want to either get a house and roommates on the west side, or get a studio downtown. I would prefer the west side, close to the co-op so I can do all my shopping there…we'll have to wait and see what happens.

Aug. 23 2000

Writing has been somewhat labored lately, as most of my mind and efforts are centered on completing this book "People w/ Papers". I got a letter yesterday from Alexandria—a response to doubting. I called Steve, I now have a working long-distance line—woo-hoo. I mailed Alexandria twice, once real and one "e", I also mailed my brother a copy of "People w/ Papers" I don't really think he'll understand it and grasp the full meaning. Steve, Alexandria and Melissa each have a copy of the book. The second set which was BeeJay and Tiffany should get theirs yesterday and my dad should get his today. I should have a message on my machine today, or at least mail beginning to trickle in soon. I explained to Steve my desire to stay in Olympia and play Ultimate Frisbee in the rain at Tumwater Falls Park. I told him about Garfield Park and plans to move to the West Side—he wants more copies of the book. He wants Nick to have one, Nick is supposedly our first musical act/contributor for PAAEP. Things should work out well and okay! I talked to Alex and my Mom today (Alex being BigAl). I sent them both a copy of the book. That seems to be my all-inclusive response, just send off a copy of the book, and everything will solve itself. I started, today, to look for a house with acreage to BUY. I want a commune with fruit trees and a garden on the West Side near Target and the Co-op. Buying a house is a big deal, and they are expensive. There was no message on the machine when I got home. So, I said this before, but now is the final truthful definitive copy of "People w/ Papers". I am going to do 40-60 copies tomorrow, depending on cost. It will probably be the low end, but it is just for now and more will happen. Get some poetry out there, get a piece of my mind out there to anyone that is willing to be enlightened. I cannot wait.

Aug. 24 2000

I wonder if I really looked that odd, standing outside Target on the wall with one foot flat on it. Eating a raw cucumber with a huge smile on my face. And I have 100% completed my arduous journey. I just finished printing 20 copies of my book, but I don't have enough money—I'll pick them up tomorrow. Then I will promptly send ten copies off to Jigme. Right now, I have to go to work, what an antecedent to my dreams. I just participated in the coolest thing—poetry reading: sitting outside Oly World News, bored, I bust out my book and start reading to myself. This kid across from me asks me to read aloud, I did. After a few poems I asked him to strum along with guitar and he did. I read in public to music for the first time! I read about ten-fifteen selections then he stopped and so did I, we really didn't talk about it at all, but it was great. Then some other people came around and we engaged in conversation it started to get chilly out (at a pause in the conversation) I felt it time to leave, I gave him the copy I was reading from! The first copy given out randomly! So, I left, and here I am waiting for the bus at OTC and it doesn't even arrive for another twenty minutes, so I am waiting. I could probably leave now and be home before the bus even gets to Tumwater Square, but, I'll wait, I think it will be better that way.

Aug. 25 2000

What a great day! The best part: my books. They are so beautiful, 20 copies of pure goodness. I updated PAAEP homepage to account for Press changes and I made a new email: paaep@hotmail. I sent five copies to Jigme, I hope he does well with them. I also went to the Farmers Market. Goodness. People are starting to remember me there, and it is great. My first inkling of belonging in Olympia. I bough a baby watermelon and saved the seeds. Then I bought a planter and some organic potting soil. About a twenty pound bag that I carried on my shoulder (while on my bike) all the way home. Talk about tough! So, I am sprouting the seeds and will plant them soon. I spent about $100 today and am not scraped! I still have rent, Steve, and $40 left. Once I pay off Steve then I will owe nothing 'cept rent and such each month, then I will begin to save to buy a house (or at least rent one) in November.

Aug. 26 2000

An idea was born in my head this morning, and I wont ease until I have a working model. Yes, it is another book—of poetry. It will be titled "Faking IT", all about that one time I faked an orgasm. I want it to take up at least 6 'zine pages, no I am going very high, 8 pages. Then I will include a couple other shorter poems to round out to a nice 10-12 page booklet mostly about faking an orgasm. It will be beautiful. I wont be sending or giving out freely too many of those, they will be available only through ordering. I can already realize the principles reactions: Steve, he will laugh; Alexandria, she will want to be close to me; rob, he will be in awe; I will be happy. It wont be a poem of laughter, or yearning, or awe inspiring either—it will only be an account of a two-hour sexual journey that I could not fulfill, and it may include the next week when I could fulfill, only too soon. It will be available by Sept. 15th, world-wide. That is a goal, not a promise. After four hours of work (with four more to go) I have refined "Faking IT"—it will be 100 6 line stanzas. Every third line will be "faking it". The first and last line of each stanza will rhyme. I started "Faking IT", I have about 12 stanzas now—and they are only five lines each, maybe I'll add twenty more stanzas to reach 600 lines, if I write 12 stanzas a day, Sept. 15th will be no problem, even with editing. I haven't even made it to where I dial the phone yet, so my timing is going well, the bulk of the poem will be the sexual act (hopefully fifty stanzas of unadulterated unfulfilling sex). Oh wow, what a great concept. And, I talked to Steve, he will come out here, his arrival date is Nov. 5th; that is the plan. And, we will get a house. That goal is to have everything set by May 1 2001. I have been beating my goals, however. "People w/ Papers" was planned to be ready for printing on the 15th of Sept. I finished that a couple of days ago, triumphantly. So, my second book is schedule din its place—hopefully I'll finish this one early too.

Aug. 28 2000

I missed yesterday, first in a long time, but for the last two day, my writing, my pen, has been engulfed in "Faking IT". It is almost done. Right now it is 117 stanzas, five line. Maybe three more stanzas, 120=600 lines, wow. Limitless, so far this poem has been very easy, no challenge. I have 18 days to finish this book, 100%. In two days I wrote 117 stanzas in the next 18 I could write 100 more, this could outweigh my freshman attempt in sheer pages if I so desire. But I think it will stay rounded between 120-150 five liners, that is acceptable. As of right now, I quit smoking, again. I want to be changed into a verifiable non-smoker by the time Steve gets here. And I found the ideal location for property owning. South of 28th, north of 20th, west of Cooper Pt. Rd., east of Division—on the west side of Oly. Tomorrow I plan to call Robin in the morning, then go out to that area and see what kind of options are open to me. So, that is tomorrow. Also, I want to have a typed working model of "Faking IT" so I can begin to editing and rhyming processes I want to incorporate into it. This first draft isn't going to be the final model, at all. This will grow and form, take shape around ideas of today through actions of yesterday. I need to get a thesaurus that will allow me to incorporate (learn) new words to make this a truly beautiful undertaking. Alexandrian called me today. She wants to come out for a week, with Steve; again, I don't see it happening. However, as always, I welcome with open arms any attempt she makes at exploring.

Aug. 29 2000

Technically, yesterday is now today. It is 12:14 a.m., I am at work. Didn't get much done today. I called Rob, it was very good. He has left the Rob-Mike club, not that he lost friendship, they just have one less thing to bond over now, yes, at 31 Rob gets laid. But it was a great talk, about art and life—aesthetic. I told him about "Faking IT", but not much. I am going to send him a flat copy of "People w/ Papers" and he wants to illustrate it. I typed half (maybe one third) of "Faking IT", it took me more than an hour to write it, obviously it'll take more than an hour to type. I got Alexandria's package today—it included a journal. I started a story in it titled "The World Awaits You, which was also her inscription. I want it to take up the entire journal, and the first four pages turned out well. I want to be done with that by Jan. 1 2002 –then I will type it and send the original back to her. A gift from her to me from me to her. Most of my writing has engulfed sources other than this journal lately, which is sad, but as "The World Awaits You" says : The path to the future must not be paved by the past, but the past must travel on the same path as the future. Something like that.

Aug. 30 2000

I got an email from Tiff, she apparently likes my book. That is good. I finished typing "Faking IT", the first draft is awash with errors. Tomorrow I will correct it. I ended "The World Awaits You". It made it to 6 pages. I think I will make it into a poem to be specially released with "Faking IT". That is awesome, I have the ability to do special releases, rare poems. Wow. I resolve to call Melissa so much. I really want to just touch base with her, I just wrote a 12 page poem about one night I spent with her, and she wont even talk to me. That is the worst. A good thing is that she must have accepted my first book, because I would've gotten it back by now if she "returned to sender". I just don't want to call when she isn't there, that would be horrible. Then she sees my name on her caller ID and will go into another throe of wild hatred, start watching for me to call when she is home so she can conveniently "not be home". That is my situation. I also wrote BeeJay a letter that basically said, " If you no longer want to communicate with me, then I see no point to our continued friendship". It wasn't that plain, but I write the kid, but he just wont respond—as if he is avoiding me or something. Within the next few weeks, I want to attain an internet domain name, HYPERLINK "http://www.paaep.org" www.paaep.org , and make a flyer to be sent to SLC, NYC, and Chicago. Promote Awareness for the site. It should work out well, and hopefully it will sell some copies of these books I am producing. Maybe to show appreciation to Tiff for posting SLC flyers PAAEP press will collaborate with Girl w/ a Gun Press to help promote Tiffany's poetry. We will work out all of the kinks soon—focus now on completion of works in progress.

Aug. 31 2000

I dreamt about Melissa, probably because I went to sleep right after I wrote all of yesterdays entry. Anyway, I was in her and Billy's apartment in Merrillville, Indiana. She was very happy to see me, like a mom who hasn't seen her child in along time—very complacent too. I remember asking her her address in the dream. The number started with a 2 and I think there were four other numbers (8579) not sure though. The street she lived on was something vs. something street. (That is not the actual name, I cannot remember it, but it was weird to have a street name with a vs. in it). That might, it must, represent the struggle I have with keeping in touch with her. Frank has included me, as secretary, in a non-profit organization he founded five years ago. Its mission is to encourage people to recycle more products than is today (more than paper and plastic). With the way Frank sees it, this is my first real experience in direct democracy.

Sept. 1 2000

What a rough day. Clocked 14 hours at work. I left at 3:00 am, got home at 8:30 p.m. That is 17.5 hours of, basically, work. I am totally beat and will do it again tomorrow. Slap me and call me an idiot! I gotta sleep now, though. Sorry I haven't enough energy to write more about this day.

Sept. 2 2000

Again and again, work work work. Clocked in 14 hours again today, I am beat again today, I, hopefully, will have a lot of treats up and coming—like, paper, mail, bread, pasta, (maybe some O.J.), I don't know 100%, but many things will work to cap off this evening. One, will not be the library. 2nd straight day of negligence towards that wonderful place, not to worry, I will be back there (not tomorrow, damnit (it is Sunday)), Monday. As well, one will not (totally) be the mail. I got another poem in "Natures Echoes". "The Sitchication". I also got my Melissa package—returned. I am going to call her tomorrow, whether I like it or not, she must speak with me (or I with her at least). I am a success, she is my only failure—or, perhaps, my grandest success. Because of her, I have "Faking IT" and a slew of other poems. And they continue, with poems like "girl" that I just penned and I am sure there will be a few (hundred) more before I stop writing. And, I really only want to talk.

Sept. 3 2000

Another long day, around 10 today—hours. That is not bad for three days, 38 hrs. This is what every week will be like in just a bit, so I am not bothered. My body, it is. Today is not shaping up very well to be the day I call Melissa, I will be beat and who knows what she will be. I'll call Steve, after I go to the store, after I read the paper, after I do everything that really isn't as important as talking to Steve. Maybe I'll buy poster board and complete direct democracy, probably not. It is all okay, I will just go home and do next to nothing. I just took a 2 hour nap and had a weird dream. The dream: I was sleeping and the phone rings. I wake up and answer. It is Steve. He said he was in the middle of the "Matrix" and just really got into it. (Why did he call then?) I said okay and asked if he would call back at its end. He said sure (he was very hyper), but he just wanted to tell me one thing. He started—Someone just had a party and BeeJay was there. There was also a stripper. He asked if I could guess what happened and I guessed that BeeJay sexed the stripper. He said no and started to mumble, the dream started to crumble. I woke up, and wrote this ramble. That is it.

Sept. 5 2000

Yesterday was Labor Day, and labor I did. I worked twice yesterday. Today, I worked once—carrying over from yesterday to culminate into a 12 hour shift. I got off at 10 a.m. I made flat, blind copies of "People" for Rob. Then I went to see Frank. I bought a cup of coffee, first in months. He also gave me a specially caffeine packed drink for free—I drank them both very quickly, I was wired for hours. I went to the library, emailed Steve, Michelle (Oly), Tiffany, Joe, Erin (Seattle), and did other things. No word from the Beej. I guess there are endings. And, some things just wont die. I called Melissa—she had just left. Now, I just got back from the store—to and from is about 7 minutes on the bike. I crashed once, almost got nailed about five times and am quite angry now. I must sleep soon, it is 6 p.m. and I gotta work tomorrow, and my boy hasn't a good sleep all night.

Sept. 6 2000

Work went well. Today went terrific. Typed "The World"—it is so beautiful. Mailed Rob and Alexandria. Thought. About my path, and my rush to its end. I am really rushing too much, way too much physical stress and since my mind controls my body and it controls my thought, my mental stress has be double. Talked to Frank about setting up an organic Greenhouse, left four copies of "People" (that peace sign is cool) at OlyWa. Emailed Michelle (I think that is her name) about setting up a date for Friday. It should go well, and I am sure she will start appearing regularly in the journal.

Sept. 7 2000

I emailed so many people today, shameless self-promotion, as LE would put it. No copies have left OlyWa as of 2 p.m. today. I set up the date with Michelle—tomorrow around 12:30, at Java Flow, then to Traditions or Voyeur for lunch. I hope I do well. Just be myself, that is the advice. I am pretty psyched, first date in a long time, first since Julia in NY. That went well, except for the fact that she overwhelmed me and never wanted to see me again. Had another great learning experience/talk at Franks with him, Pepper, and an Indian lady. All about societal norms, society, ideals, I learn so much from him and his people. My newspaper was stolen again, so I put a note on my door and that was removed within an hour of its arrival—I will be very happy to get out of Alpine Village and into a home with a yard and soon enough a garden. I finished Tape 1 for my recorder journals today, I think that is a very promising project. And, my Dad is still laboring through "People", which is sad. But, good too—at least he is reading it and learning who his soon is, he now knows what a mistake children are.

Sept. 8 2000

I am not going to publish "Faking IT", I just cant. What good would it do, "World" stands much brighter when I remove it from the shadow of "Faking", so I will let "World" become its own, with other nature poems to back it up or some political folk poems, pretty much anything away from the like of carnal man (sex and girls), so "Girl on bike outside library" wont make it in there.

Sept. 9 2000

Man oh man, yesterday was awesome. I went on a date, with Michelle, and she is so beautiful and funny (if only vegan and not militarized). So, I went to Franks around 10:a.m., 2.5 hours before the set-up date—I was ready. Hung out with Frank, got some free box clothes, drank coffee, talked (mostly about girls), waited. 12:10 comes around—beautiful out, sun is "shinin" and I am under it. Frank and I just talkin; a guy comes up and gives him two tickets for tonight's Mariners game, he doesn't want them. Talkin' awhile more, 12:35 rolls around. No Michelle, I eat my pear. Halfway into the first bite, white car pulls to opposite street side. I just look, I know it is her—and she is really cute—I let Frank know, I play it off legit, act as if I know not who she is, she meanders to the curb, "Are you Brian". Yes, I am. Hi Michelle, sit down—right next to me and I put my arm around her. We talk with Frank for awhile he reminds me of the tickets (spontaneity rules). I take them, thank him, and we head to Traditions. She has a specialty coffee, me: vegan enchilada. I pay. We (I) eat and we get to know each other, going excellent. We leave, I tell her more stories, she has some too. We get back to Franks, hop in the car—go to Target. I get a $400 check for the week! Go to the bank, I am feeling mack-dad, I talk to two guy customers and Rianna (the teller) boisterously, I am happy. After the bank, we go to her friend Rosie's house. Rosie—an old blind lady—screens all of her friends. Rosie loves my accent. We hang for about 45 minutes, I use bathroom, Michelle prints directions to SafeCo field. We are both happy. We head to Seattle. My first time. We get lost, and end up parking on 7th and Cherry--$2 all night. We walk, aimlessly. She asks a Jamaican directions to the field, he walks us all the way there, his name was James. We are at the ballpark—before it opens, I need to pee again. I go to the gas station across the street, she buys her drink, I buy mine. It starts to rain, we move to a dry spot. Finish our drinks, and go in. Sit down, about 1.5 hours before game start. We talk more, she buys a deli (meat) sandwich—okay, her prerogative. And, oh, at Traditions I found that she has ended her relationship with her fiancée. The guy in front of us once wiggled his ass and she liked it, I think. Our neighbors were from Minnesota (opposing team fans), we left around the top of the 5th inning, Mariners down 3-1. They would end up losing 4-2. Once outside, we hopped a bicycle cab to the Occidental St. trolley car. Where the underground city is. The ride cost $10 ($6 and tip), I paid. We waited at the trolley stop for ten minutes, hopped the trolley, $1 each—I offered to pay. Rode the trolley to Broad St. where we walked uphill five blocks to the Space Needle, $11 to go up—each. I paid. We walked around on top looking at the city, and I so wanted to hug her, it seemed so right to me, but I didn't—fear of affection; affection is the answer; fear of the answer? So, it was great, I made her laugh so much and would sneak in "accidental" touches, to see if it was okay. I think it was now, but I fear the answer, plus she is leaving in only a few days for the NAVY. So, we came down the Needle, it had to be around 10 p.m. I didn't want to end last night, ever, so I suggested we stay in Seattle till 2:a.m. then she could just drop me at work. So, after the Needle, we snuck into the EMP and fiddled around for an hour. Then we got kicked out. Too bad. We started to look for an all night coffee shop, we eventually walked all the way back to the car (all the way across town). We asked at a bar and they said 1st and Denny is the nearest all-night . That was about four blocks south of the Needle. So, we drove over there and ate fresh fruit and drank coffee for about 2.5 hours. Then we left for home, by SeaTac mall she really had to pee so we stopped and I help her arms behind her back in playful torture. It was very fun. Then she dropped me at work, gave me her number and left. How I wanted, yearned, but refrained from physical conduct. Then I bragged all day at work about my date with a beautiful, insightful lady, named Michelle. In the middle of writing my previous night synopsis, Dusty, my neighbor, knocked on my door. We talked about an hour about his abusive girlfriend, my beautiful night, her (his girlfriends) bastard son, his junkie-slut daughter, music, life, his bigotry, my equality, air freshener and phones. Weird morning. And I just talked with him again about Vietnam, fuckin a. I feel like Todd in Stephen Kings novella. So, he told me about our men killing our own men for power or lack thereof, I am kind of scared, but okay. And at the end of all that, I called Michelle, tried to get her to come pick me up and abstain from sleep. Eventually, I got her to agree to come get me—around 12:15. She said she would be here around 2. I must've fallen asleep around 1:30, but I opened my door before. Around 2:30 she wakes me, with her foot. I am quickly aroused. Within three minutes we are off to target. I bought a blender; she, an electronic day planner. Then to the co-op—she would not try rice cream nor pitted prunes nor vegan dry cake. Not very open to new tastes, not great, but overlookable. Today was not as much fun as the previous night, but we have another date to "do the Puyallup" later in the week. After one hour of sleep in about 38 hours, I need to sleep for tomorrow work. I also had a great talk with Steve today.

Sept. 10 2000

Not much today—I haven't called Michelle, yet. I probably wont, a day of breathing time, catch up on rest (which I'll do in about an hour). I should call her tomorrow and see if she wants to go to Tumwater Falls and lay in the dirt, watching the clouds and rain (if it is around). Maybe she'll, maybe she wont. She seems torn on new experiences. This blender, I use it. Last night/this morning: Apple/Banana/Water Blend, today Granola/Soymilk/Banana Blend, tomorrow—maybe Grapefruit/Banana, who knows. Bananas are on sale. Soon, I will be drinking all my meals. And, it isn't very tasteful, all the flavors blend to be less than their separate worth—it is fun trying new things, though. "Faking IT" is 100% of publication state, now I need to compile some poems (rapidly) to back "World" in a book titled the same. I want this book to be no more than ten sheets of paper (40 pages), "People" was 22! This next should round out to 5-7 pages, a most promising range. I think I am going to buy a new stereo system from Target, they are at a don't-pass-up price. In the next few days, watch the receipts.

Sept. 11 2000

Asked about the radios, mine now is an Audiovox, this one is an Audiovox. I am told they are not good, they break. I, now, will most likely not buy that radio. Save the money for a house. Call on the houses today, I will. I wanted too, anyway. Instead, I spent the entire day till around 7:30 with Frank. I got so much fruit from him and knowledge. I received: figs, potatoes, apples, pears, grapes, cucumbers, zucchini, kale, collard, blackberries, and other stuff I'm sure. We talked about life, spirituality, possibility/impossibility, food, work, nature, so much else. I am going to attempt to keep his store open all night and make money doing it. We will see what becomes of it, I stay out way too late, overflow my mind and wear out my body—somethings gotta change, or somethings gonna give.

Sept. 12 2000

Fucked work today—didn't go in. Went to see Frank instead. I called Michelle early and asked if she would come over in her pajamas, while she looked sexy as hell half-awake, I would've been lost in bliss. She didn't show. It is okay, I will do the same tomorrow. (Except I'll go to work first). I emailed Tiffany, my mail to her is beautiful. I have three days to compile the new book, and it isn't working the way I want, I am behind myself and the reason is Michelle, I would rather structure my time now around her than my work. I don't do many visibly productive things when my mind rests on her. I am, soon, going to meet and awesome girl. Beautiful (dirty, a little slutty, skinny, highly sexy and sexual, natural), smart, vegan, talkative, friendly, accepting, ideal! Someone that'll inspire me to be beautiful, Michelle inspires me to be around and suck off of her physical and mental beauty—I want someone that will encourage my personal beauty. It is hard to explain.

Sept. 14 2000

Biking isn't an easy curriculum. It has been in the low 60's (63 degrees today) in the morning and I sweat. It is rougher work when you sweat on the way too. Michelle is supposed to call me today and we are supposed to go to the fair—we'll see. I am skeptical about her even calling, I may end up calling her and that would be (in a way) an act of force if I persuaded her to go to the fair with me. I do not want to force her, I want her to want me. One of these days I am going to buy a house. It was planned to be yester, but I got caught up with Frank and sleep. Damn my life. Tomorrow, "Faking IT" was to come out, that came off the plate and "World" took its place, I am way too ambitious, nothing is coming out tomorrow. A certain level of contentment.

Sept. 15 2000

Frank is a bastard. It is 10 minutes till 9 p.m.—he just dropped me off. He is so wise and insightful, he excites my mind to new levels (and my cooking). I spend so much time with him, it is fun. I have to be up at 2:25 a.m., staying out till nine is not wise, that is why he is the mentor and I the student. When I start getting off work at 6:a.m., this will be okay, go home—get home around 7 a.m.—sleep till 1 or 2 in the afternoon, spend the rest of the time with Frank. I have to go to sleep now, no recollection of what we did or what I cook, nothing. I got mail from Alexandria, finally, that is as much as I can write now.

Sept. 16 2000

I look around and all my pessimism sees is stupidity. People know (or presume to know) nothing. Is knowledge a crime? I don't think so. I attempt, in my life, to expand my mind to unknown possibilities, the people I see attempt to go to the mall, and buy a new car, and be ARTIFICIAL! That is not for me, I see not how people can subscribe to these thoughts, it is horrible. I cannot handle it sometimes, it is so disgusting. I wonder how I ever could have been one of those people, how I could've been so naïve, and realize at the same time that my naivety is still high and all these other people have not crossed square-one. I wrote Alexandria a letter and continued the poem, it saddens me that Rob and Steve neglect to continue the poem, I like the idea and where Alex and I are taking it is beautiful. I wrote another poem today, the spy one. It is good now, and has unlimited potential to be awesome. I have been eating pure potatoes lately. Potato bread, potato chips (homemade—by me), fried potatoes, raw potatoes. Lots of applesauce (homemade—by me), very little else. I am a fucking poet. That's the truth, I am abstinent and fucking—only a poet (or artist—in any form) can do that. You must want to be that though, I accept and honour the fact that I am an Irishman with a small penis who writes poetry and travels. I accept life.

Sept. 17 2000

Long day—woke up to the phone ringing at 4:30 a.m., it was Marcus. I got to work around 5:30 a.m. I was late.

Sept. 18 2000

Looking at the stars. If the nearest star is 75,000 years away, I am looking into the past. Or is it the future? I would have to travel 75,000 years to be seeing the, that, those star(s) real-time. Do my eyes see the future or the past? That is what I will think of all day. It is the past, I asked Frank. I talked to Steve, he talked to Abby. I haven't talked to her in years—I am going to email her tomorrow. I was just thinking about her and I and my car (with no pants or feeling) the other day, life is truly circular. We are both circles and we have collided twice. Like cells in the body of life. Steve and I are the same cells, we are naturally attracted to each other, Abby is a cell that relates to mine and as we circle the Earth (the body), we will collide sporadically. Others' cells die, like Melissa (I am a white-cell, I try to save dying cells, like hers), and I try and try, but don't know her path. I will write much more on the body of life and circles and cells.

Sept. 19 2000

I emailed Abby, and talked to Frank. I was very euphoric, almost tripping (like on LSD) today. Just watching the clouds, walking and talking very slowly—like a native. I would really like to meet a girl—just to talk too. We could sit down one night, drink a bottle of red wine and just talk, that is what I want, companionship. My apartment is such a mess, I am going to clean tomorrow, and get a key to Franks store, the Java Flow. It is 6:30 now, and I am at home, and cooking dinner (potatoes, onions, celery, spices; in tinfoil, in the oven), and listening to Rancid, and thinking, allways thinking.

Sept. 20 2000

I cleaned my apartment (mostly), I found two places (apartments) to check out: Apple Park and Cambridge Court. I just called on both of them and left cheesy messages. I was also looking at sofa-beds in the paper and found one for $45 that I would like to check out. Frank says he can get me one for free—I say great. I made dinner (and tomorrows lunch) again—rice, black beans, onion, noodles and spices; heated. I am becoming a good vegan chef. I met at artist from Israel today, she was very beautiful. I also met a TESC student from Puyallup who is a journalist. I got her email address—now she will be subject to my deep emails that I barrage other people with. She was listening to Weezer, and I love them. The other day, I really wanted to listen to Weezer. I'll email her tomorrow or the next day (her name is Rachael, ironic?), maybe I can drink red wine with her one day. I gave up eating bread from Tumwater Mega Foods last week, they use stearolacytate—I don't think that is good for me. But, the Lacey Mega Foods makes cheaper bread with no bad ingredients, and I cannot figure that out. Bobb is sad lately, I think he and Shannon are having problems, and I hope it is not my fault. It seems that I do well breaking up couples (Steve and Rachael; BeeJay and Beth) so I think I may have something to do with it and that bothers me. I will ask him about it tomorrow. I'm really happy. Life is a very good thing, and I am good at it, sometimes, I am really impressed with myself (but mostly I am disappointed). I am, however, still happy—and that is excellent. CD is over, time for bed.

Sept. 21 2000

The apple tree on Pinehurst has been conquered! I climbed, I ate, I descended. I am gonna go to FM and buy fruit and veggies for me and whoever I offer it too. I am now the proud owner of a BETA player. Fucking Frank. So I bought the fruit, went to his shop and stayed for a couple hours—then we (me and Frank) left. We went to a few places then ended up at Laura's a friend of his. We detailed her lawn; mowed, weed-ate, edged, etc. then we drove around more, and went to Ron's (another of Frank's friends), this is where the BETA player comes in. He went, actually took us into his garage and started offering things. I ended up with the BETA, about six BETA movies, a lamp, raingear, and new sunglasses. One needs a TV to operate a BETA, I have no TV. I don't know what to do with it.

Sept. 22 2000

I looked at a few apartments today—I went to Bobb's house. It was very odd. His complex looks like the one I'll be getting into, but he is odd. His entire apartment is spotless, nothing laying around, nothing out of place, like a picture book. I could never live like that. I went to four or five places total, all around Target.

Sept. 23 2000

I talked to my Mom today—about the book. She asked if I would forgive her for being a bad parent. We talked about those things, it was a good talk. I told her all about my activities and plans. I think she was befuddled. I am such a happy kid, I called Melissa (a name not written for awhile) left a message on her door—my number and name.

Sept. 25 2000

Painful writing. I just got my new tattoo, by Adam at Electric Rose. Still hoping on my left forearm. $350 it hurts in more ways than one. He is a good guy, very thorough. I am happy, through the pain. It took about three hours to do it, but I was there for five. Earlier in the day, I talked to Steve, he is coming out here on the 17th of October. That is really cool. God damn does my arm hurt.

Sept. 28 2000

Okay, I understand that it has been a long time since I last wrote and I am sorry about that. Well, in the last two days I have bought a vacuum, a computer, got a couch (hide-a-bed) and met a wonderful person named Sarah. I talk to her everyday and we talk for quite awhile. It is a good thing. She has a kid, Ka'Lani. This isn't prejudice at all, but when I first heard the name I thought the child would be mulatto, but it is a Hawaiian name and the child is white, not that that is good or bad, it just is and that is how things are and that is perfectly acceptable. So, right now I am waiting for her to call me back—patiently. She thinks I have an innocent voice and that I am very cute in an all around sort of way and she isn't bad looking (from the picture I have seen) either. Maybe this could be a wonderful thing. A new beginning. She is a meat eater and open, so if we got together I could help her realize the benefits of veganism and we could experiment bringing up baby—vegan. That would be awesome, kind of like Steve wanted to do with Jake. Another thing. Melissa emailed me, twice. Very short to the point emails that say leave me alone you dirty bastard–in not so many words. And that girl Rachael emailed me back, she sympathized with my feelings and I emailed her back inviting her to the rain forest and the ocean with Steve and I and to live in the apartment (that we will eventually get) with us. She will most likely think me weird and never talk to me again, but oh well, we move on and that is what life is all about. When I talked to Steve last he told me some very good news. He is coming out here earlier than planned. In about two weeks. That is so awesome, I am overwhelmed with good feelings. I am so happy. I still haven't gotten any orders for my book, and that makes me sad because I really thought (even without any advertisement) that some copies would sell, well I have some people that may buy one on hold—Justin Schwier and Vicki (from Reflections). Again, we will just have to wait and see. I am really in love with life, I cannot stress that enough, this life is the best I have ever had and it will only prove to get better. Look at me now, a high tech kid with a computer and everything, typing. My new tattoo is awesome, (I cannot believe that I actually forgot to write about it) it takes up my entire forearm and I am so happy with it. I have decided the design for the rest of the left arm on my body. In the blank spot (it isn't really blank, but it is open) on my wrist there will be a huge old growth tree, the trunk will shoot up my entire arm and the branches will hang down on my chest and back!!!! The rest of the open space will be for birds and nature—squirrels. I have decided to make the "E" into the pinnacle of the arm, a bamboo stick will shoot from the top of the rocks to connect with the bottom of the "E" and the "E" may have a bowl underneath it to look like fire in a cup, I don't know. That is my left arm, the right arm is an entirely different story. It will be along the same lines, but a water scene, maybe with a mound of coral that has something carved into it and a river instead of a tree or something, that is in the future and let us not bother with it now. The thing to bother with now is the left arm as that will be completed first.

Sept 29 2000

Some horoscopes from the Olympian today, nevermind some, I will just do mine. It correlates well with what has been going on recently: "Settling down is on your mind, and lately, you have excelled in matters of property ownership. You may be struck with awe by the exotic culture of someone from a foreign country. It is a lovely time to daydream, you have been working hard." Yeah, that is it, that is the horoscope and I think that it says very well what is going on. If you take that Sarah has been to Germany and that could make her foreign in a sense, then that rings true also. I have been working hard and I am daydreaming, all the time, but now it is good, for a reason maybe. Tomorrow I am going to attempt to quit smoking again, I may be able to roll one more cigarette with the pouch of tobacco I have now, but not more than that, so I may quit tonight, but it will take effect tomorrow. HOPE. That is what I am filled with and I am hoping that I can end this terrible faction of my life that I have embraced for quite some time. Put it into the closet forever, and if I tell myself that I may buy another pack or pouch next year when I turn 21, I may not even want it then. I made no promise to myself the last time I quit that I could buy a pack on my birthday, but I did buy a pack, so it seems to be the pattern in a system that hasn't been around enough to establish patterns. So, whatever. I talked to Steve and to Sarah today. Steve keeps on moving his departure date sooner and sooner, which is excellent. I hope he doesn't end up like the kid in the Rancid song that went to East Bay and after only a few months went back to New Orleans because he didn't have any food or money and stuff, that would be sad. He quit his job today and he is seemingly ready to go and I don't know what is holding him for the last week. Were it me in his shoes, I would have left the moment I had the inclination that something better lies beyond the clouds and that place was offered to me. That is where we are different and that is sad, that he doesn't own the sense of spontaneity as vividly as I. Maybe one day he will progress to the level of spontaneous action that surrounds me (so I feel) and he will act on feelings as soon as they happen, I am still not that gifted and the disparity between my sense of spontaneity and his is very prevalent, I cannot just walk up and talk to anyone like I think he is capable of but he cannot take off to new places the way I can. Differences, everyone has them but once we learn to complement others we learn to live in total peace and equality and everything is good, on the front and back, inside and outside, everything. Wow, what a great revelation. Sarah said she might just come over here tonight. That would be cool, I guess, I get a feeling of distance from her today, like she is double thinking the situation she and I are in and the second thoughts are more cautious than her first. She is how she is and now I will not attempt to change her, but maybe one day I will inject some of my being into her and we will connect in a way where we can feed and learn from each other and she will grow and I will grow and the earth will turn and the universe will expand and everything will work out perfectly. Or maybe the universe will deflate and the earth will stop and we will not connect and we will not sustain a feeling of peacefulness and meaningfulness between us—but maybe everything will just fall apart and it will not affect the earth in any visible or deep way. Who knows and why should we attempt to learn those things, let us live them out and look back on them one day, that is what these writings are for anyway, aren't they?

Sept 30 2000

The last day of the month, and how do I feel? I feel neglected. I wonder, Sarah hasn't called me lately—unless I call her first (I use the word lately and this has been a three-day affair). I do not really want to call anyone right now, I would like to talk to Alexandria though, sometime, she hasn't written or called in a long time. Everything will work out. I was so tired today after work, I fell asleep on the bus and missed my stop. That was okay though, I got off right away and back tracked. I went to the store, bought some mushrooms and broccoli—came home and made soup. Mushroom/Broccoli/Carrot Vegetable/Herb Soup, by me. It was very good. I may take the rest to work tomorrow night, ah, work tomorrow. I work at 4 in the morning and again at 10 p.m. I will bring the soup for the 10 p.m. shift, if at all. I thought today I was tired after work, I cannot wait to see how I feel Monday morning. Tomorrow I am not particularly worried, I go to work, work, come home, sleep, go back to work. Once the clock turns days into Monday though, my body will register it and say it is time for bed young man, please just stop. But I will not be able too and I will continue to deplete my energy to zero "DEAD BATTERY" then I will leave in the morning to go see Frank and get a cup of Joe and I will simply be dead, totally drained, depleted, worn-out, spent, et cetera et cetera et cetera infinitum. Let us see if I can talk or write Latin, NO.

Oct 1 2000

So, I tried to set myself up with a different program to type these journals, but I do not think it will work. I am attempting to digitalize my entire life, with this computer, I will rule the world. It is sad, I know, but this is something that I must do, to change the world I must first understand everything that runs it and then I must analyze and dissect it to the point of bare minimum so I can truly understand what makes it tick and how I can teach people to dismantle it without blowing the nuclear warhead—you know? It would be very hard to get everyone today to say, yeah let us be anarchaic!! I need to show them how it would be better than what is happening now and how it would be worse and how we can learn to cope with the change. It will take a long time, but I do not think it will be overtly difficult to generate enough energy to carry out this experiment and to pass on my findings to the rest of the world. I should really be sleeping right now, because I need to go to work in a few hours, for all night. But, I will be okay, I think.

Oct 3 2000

I have been up for 28 hours now, since 8 p.m. last night and it is 11 p.m. tonight. This is how the schedule worked: got to work at Target Corp., at eight. Get off work at 6 am. Go to work at the Java Flow at 6 am. Leave there at 10 am. Go home and call Sarah, then Steve, then go to library. Come home around 2 p.m. Call Frank, he needs someone to come in to work for him, I was planning on going there without his knowledge at 10 p.m. to stay open all night, instead I went in around 6 p.m. I worked there from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. It is 10:44 p.m. now. I am very tired and Sarah is supposed to call me around midnite. Steve will be here in less than a week. I am doing weird things to my body and I don't know why, but pretty soon something gonna change or something is gonna give. I think I have said that before, but I will say it again because I like it. I am going to kick out the bed and sleep now.

Oct 6 2000

What do I do all day, and why do I not spend time writing anymore, it is partly because of work, partly because of girls (I have another story and updates) it is partly because of the switch to computer. I have been running around so much lately, staying up for 24, 30, 36, hours straight and then sleeping for four hours and then going back to work. Today I caught up, I got 7 hours of sleep. Toni. She is beautiful, she is Pepper's daughter, she just came back from Santa Rosa and she is supposedly vegan (she used sugar in her coffee). Sarah, I haven't talked to her in days, she got her tattoo, I have no time for a girl that wants to beat around the bush, come spend time with me if you want my time, don't expect me to save pieces of my day and dedicate them to talking on the phone to someone 10 miles (if that) away. So, if I am here great, I will talk (but, as today, she called while I was sleeping and I need rest more than I needed to talk to her about her child). Julia. From Brooklyn, now lives in Wisconsin and I started to talk to her again. Robin, from Texas talked to me the other day and she is supposed to call me again soon. Melissa stopped emailing me. Email—I did a beautiful letter reminiscent of "Meno" and sent it out to 30 0r so people that were in some way connected to me. I haven't got many responses yet. Give it time. I am in such a rush, I have been for the past week, preparing for Steve and working for Frank and so many good thoughts have been traveling my mind, most likely excited by the pickup in female activity in my life. But good thoughts are of change and the path, not of girls and girls. I've to leave for work now, hopefully I will catch Toni at Java Flow before I go so I can go to work ecstatic!!!!

Oct 7 2000

I gotta stop this rigorous routine that I rampantly realize regularly. I woke up yesterday around 3 in the afternoon, I am still up—it is 11 am. If I go to bed now I will get about 9 hours (that are very needed) but I still need to play FreeCell!!! No one calls or writes me anymore, no one cares about the stress that I incur. Working 1.5 real jobs, writing, typing, publishing, contacting and readying. It is so stressful, everything has to be thought out. I gotta do something different. What? Next week Steve will be here and I will be under even more stress, because I will want him to experience everything as I have, but he will never see the Transfused or Ladyfest or the Artswalk last night, I only wish everything could be as perfect as my mind envisions. But, you know, I think and wish too much, too ambitious, too much to do, too little time, and I just ate way too much. I had two bowls of My Special Soup and a loaf of bread and two cups of OJ. There was about 50 grams of protein in that one sitting and someone tried to ask me once where I expect to get protein. There was at least 70 percent of my daily calcium and I think I got at least 50 percent of all the other regular needed vitamins. FreeCell, then sleep, then work, then work, then work, then work, then work then work infinitum and then maybe some sleep.

Oct. 20 2000

Momentary lapse of living when nothing really stops, and in all actuality things move faster. Steve is here and I am not. I am moving faster and life is closing in on me: Functionality. Must do. True. Things come to light; being. Writing. Rob has an art show and I have the sweet task of writing the intro, the task of a lifetime, I have to be. I don't understand life anymore, visions of clouds=clouded vision—mine. What is this thing I try to do? What am I attempting, definitely not truth. Or, maybe more truth than I really know, maybe the most, I asked Steve to fight me this morning, am I really pacifistic? YES! I do try, almost to much and I think that may be a hindrance of mine… I got pierced, a week ago, my labret. I hiked the rainforest and climbed a mountain, I drank pure glacial runoff, from a rainforest stream and I ingested zero protozoan. Fifteen, my newest alma mater, my newest love. Inciting riots in my head, and forcing me in new directions, is my life based on music and movies? Have I made my own way or am I on a paved path of destruction of being? How can anyone answer that question, especially me—and in all truth I am the only one which can answer it.

Oct. 22 2000

Very weird, this life is. I am really thinking about moving back to Chicago. I don't know why—that is a lie, I know exactly why: I left way too early, into uncertainty and I need a little more ease and nurturing. I think maybe I don't really know at all, maybe I know nothing, really. Jeff Ott has been doing weird things to me lately, I am reshaping my beliefs, and to do that I need to hit bottom and rebuild from nothing. So I am moving towards nihilism, in an effort to believe in something.

Oct. 25 2000

So I spoke with my father today, about moving back in with him for a few months—he loves the idea. I, unfortunately don't, as much as I should. And sometimes I just sit and think to myself for hours about choices, decisions, right and wrong, this side/that side, what ifs, and I do not think it is healthy for my mind. Because, it make me stray off into thoughts so much better than reality and it makes me cry that things are not as they could be. So, Dec. 2nd will be my last day in Oly, what a world.

Oct. 28 2000

Thinking about the singularity and how it affects life. It can be described with different words, like: singularity, the soul, almighty, the goal, the end, god, etc.—but I use singularity, it is quite fitting.

Oct. 31 2000

Back to NY. I bought a ticket today to go back there for Rob's art show. It is on the 5th of Nov. I am leaving on the 2nd, I am coming BACK TO OLYMPIA on the 7th. Layovers both ways in Covington, KY—weird, but very cheap. Only $231.95 for the round trip ticket!

Nov. 2 2000

I travel like it is nothing. In a few hours I will be on a plane to NY and I will not have a care in the world. I don't write much anymore, and that sucks, because there is so much happening in this life. With my bad memory, I should really make it a point to keep better track. Welcome back to NY shoppers 9:30p EST.

Nov. 7 2000

The smell of bleach and pesticide in an airport bathroom at 4"30 in the morning is enough to make anyone sick. To make them want to leave and the stewards and esses only say "please come back" it is a fucked up contradiction. Being here was supposed to change my light from yield to go—and I was supposed to notice. I will be here, the uncertainty, for some time to come. And, outwardly I embrace it, inwardly I see societal truth and popular vote. Just another contradiction. The contradiction is the root of American society, this nation became America in a revolt against taxation without representation. It was only a short while after that the taxes started again, and on the level of decency, there is no such thing as a decent politician. Contradiction. That doesn't even matter though, it is not the point; the point is uncertainty and prevalence. Or, at least, perception of the aforementioned. It relates to that old question: What is freedom and are you alive? The answer is the question and no one is asking. And in this lack of care uncertainty flourishes while the light of the singularity grows dimmer. This early in the morning the businessmen line outside of Starbucks (registered trademark symbol) like junkies outside the methadone clinic. They start thirty minutes or more before the place even opens, joking about their addiction—these are the people that vote for GWB today, because big business above personal welfare. When the wing of a plane hides the entire island of Manhattan, I know I am in the air; I know what is behind, always uncertain of the future. I lost my poetry book yesterday, my black book of new poems. It fell out of my pocket while I was passed-out on the train. It doesn't even bother me. I had an entire field of emotion mixing in my body after I noticed, but that faded, that is gone, the book is gone, I am gone. Don't look back, you can see too much and you'll blind yourself with memory and regret; look forward, through the dense fog I can barely see the seat back in front of me, but I am certain there is something better ahead. That tattoo on my arm reveals my entire being and no one believes, sometimes I don't. I thought a lot about a U.S. invasion today, concocting fake blasts in my mind that used to be the U.N., hearing code on the radio instead of weather, I thought it so much I wanted it. I guess I am not one with the singularity anymore if I ever was, can a falling out like that occur? Is that de-evolution in progress or just my mind testing my strength? I simply must be destined for some sort of fame, a martyr or something—the stewardess just asked if I was in a band, all through this trip I was congratulated and questioned: artist? Singer? Writer? Activist? Homeless person in the street is a better description than those and, relatively, they are all lies. Welcome shoppers, it is now 11:00 a.m., we are on the road to Lakewood. The fresh WA air stings my lungs, because my receptacles have grown accustomed to NYC smog-air in only four days.

Nov. 8 2000

I didn't go to work last night, my outlook towards this institution becomes more apathetic as the days turn. Instead, I stayed up all night following the presidential election. It is still happening, so last night could've been written off as pointless, but I know a lot about what happens in an election now. And in the end will probably still be GWB as it was at 2:30 this morning, but we can hope right? I do not even see the relevance, if it is to be understood that sooner or later war will override this current state of complacency I vote to bring it sooner, this time in limbo is a drag. After war a resolution should be visible, if not within arms reach. And, war is a shitty means to the end, but it is also inevitable…the point of no return has been breached.

Nov. 9 2000

Caffeine affects my body in ways that cannot be all good. I can sit staring at nothing, not moving a muscle, but shaking anyway. I am feeling better everyday, coming closer to the singularity, the idea, the belief, working for me, not for the (wo)man. Let this stand as plan: I will stay in current apt. for two more months, Jan and Dec. At the end of January I will go to Tucson and after that it is up to destine. (That is des-tine, not destiny…destine is singular, as in my destiny=destine.) I am becoming much wiser, last night Steve got into a political talk with and old Alaskan hippie, who wouldn't let Steve talk, or listen when he did…he was a tyrant. I would not get into it, he was beyond hope. My stagnancy through that ordeal shows my patience, and genius, do not waste anything.

Nov. 10 2000

I am giving up—again. On smoking, at least (the very least). Mark yesterday as the official day I quit. I have been thinking about heroin a lot. I wont talk much about desire, but I would try it, should the scenario present itself. It is a prevalent force in my surroundings—the N/A group and Lucas especially, John Horne in NY telling all about it, and making it sound so excellent, "Trainspotting", this cute-lesbian-dreadlock girl that comes into the shop, she was on tonight, when I saw her and I just wanted to say "Hey, get me some". Even methadone, I will settle. Steve found a bottle of methadone at the shop and had it been there when I was there, I would've indulged, just one hit. I don't, really, even know why I want this, I just do; maybe to see if I can do it, to see if I get addicted, to see if I can be saved…and when I do get it, I will write all about it. And I told Steve all about my desire today, and like a true autonomist, he only asked me to pay him back prior. Maybe I will put the heroin on the back burner and start REALLY looking for companionship, someone to travel with me, and I would like it to be a girl, it is easier that way, and it holds more chances at romance and love, that I would like to be part of again. So I started looking in the personal ads…

Nov. 12 2000

I have a good week and the there is a negative day, like yesterday, which only got bad at the end, stretching into today, possibly jinxing this day—which is my day off. Last nite my bike tires were slashed, thus retiring my Diamond-Back Outlook (actually, Franks), he practically forced me into a new (that's what you get for napp

9/14 ( what am I doing?? Nov. 14 2000

I can see these kids sitting at the bus station and yelling, being obnoxious—and rude. And I think, "what a bunch of fuckheads, right", then I remember I was once like that. I went through a sobering experience—as they must, kind of like a cleansing of childhood, washing it away forever. Then I have an Anne Frank moment and think how everyone is good, despite all of the evil. I think that Lucas was once like that and after "the Program" he is an awesome down-to-earth dude. I could see those kids holding much potential, yet they fear releasing it because that is releasing their childhood and their so-though freedom. In all actuality, that cleansing is freedom from oppressive and repressive past, opening the door to unknown freedom. And in a few years they could be the new kids at Franks theorizing with him as I do, or helping him or just being there and learning; and that metamorphosis is the basis of evolution and survival of the fittest. Because we will evolve to learn to be more rational, and how to survive in an ever-changing world—how to survive in peace and freedom.

Nov. 15 2000

At any given time I can feel my heartbeat anywhere in my body. It was cold outside and I only clasp my hands to almost hear my heartbeat through their union. This is how I know I am alive, not by breathing or having feelings, but feeling my heartbeat and watching and hearing it. Some people lambast me as unhealthy I wish they would all shut-up, because health, as many other things, is a perception. I perceive myself as healthy—and I am. All those mindless meat eater blindly believing upbringing are unhealthy…I HAVE ZERO RISK OF HEART DISEASE!!! I have no risk of unhealthy death, because I am healthy and will always be—so long as I stay on the positive track of veganism. I do not have any clue where I am going, what I am doing, what I want to do, I only know that I must do something and something will present itself soon enough and I will be liberated from the chains of aloofness. Aloof to ones own being, ones needs wants and desires…I am messed up, but I am working towards reconciliation with myself—past present and future, and a resolution is inevitable…it will soon be realized, hopefully. As often as the thought runs through my head, I am amazed 100% more every time I realize my whereabouts and my past. I often think of whether or not I have done anything in my life and the thoughts of places been will creep up and yell in my ear: YES! And then I smile and am happy—and nothing can ever take away from that, I will always smile… Negotiating Love In effect, the feeling of love is a genuine care for the object loved. To love, then, one must be completely learned in the objects being so the lover can justify "true love." By saying "true love", that leaves the reader to believe there is such a thing as "fake love"; slow, the reader is not. "Fake love" is commonly described as lust, subjects (i.e. people and objects; i.e. tables can equally be lusted for). One may feel amorous towards another and describe this feeling as love, if one neglects to examine an enamour every aspect of this being before stating a love-like feeling, one is feeling lust.

Nov. 17 2000

I am feeling empowered lately, especially in the aspect of writing, like yesterdays "Negotiating Love", also running through my head was a personal protest essay explaining everything I protest daily in my life, through my dress, actions, personal hygiene, etc. And, as always, there is the singularity piece and maybe others detailing: possibilities/impossibilities, theorizing everything is possible; speaking habits and expectations, theorizing that a conversation with no known end provokes beauty and breakthrough—progress; there could be a hundred more, I cannot locate them now.

Nov. 18 2000

As corporations exploit and continue the brainwashing of America at large, Target is no different. And as I sit here, my contempt for this institution grows, but no change is seen on my face.

Nov. 20 2000

I am nothing in this place, I am a robot with thoughts trapped inside—but only in this institution. I do not like this feeling of claustrophobia where so much love builds up inside that it turns to hate because it cannot escape and I think people who commit suicide feel something similar to this to push them over the edge. Outside, I have outlets, hell, even in here I use this book as my outlet…I am well connected and powerful, in my own mind. And God says that is the only place that matters.

Nov. 26 2000

I am always thinking of ways to end my life. Not to kill myself, but ways to stop the course I am on. Not because I don't believe in it anymore, but because my mind is muddled. I want to go on dates with girls, watch movies, laugh and smile. I sound like a girl…but it is good to be in touch with my feminine side. And I look like a girl now too, I shaved my hair last night, I put beads in it and I look like an African princess.

Nov. 29 2000

And sometimes we just don't know either way. Like I will sit here and I will think, "gee, I have a lot of things to do today" and then I don't do anything. So I wonder if I am just apathetic towards the entire stigma of American life, or just life in general. Or I think maybe it is just a personal protest led by my soul carried out by my body and my mind is left in the dark, like I have no recollection or control over the things that I do, perhaps my soul is trying to teach my mind through my body that I can be me and I do not have to do anything I don't want to, but if my soul is acting of its own accord making me feel like I am not a part of my soul, does that not mean that I am not doing what I want but my soul is doing what is best for me??? This is what plagues my mind, and how can I overcome it? Shall I sit down and have a one on one with my soul to discuss what is best for this body? That seems and sounds absurd how could one possibly talk with ones soul?? Gee there we go, America has solved the great riddle, it is not "normal", so it is not. Of course how could I be so blind? And maybe I have never seen so clearly in my life.....

Dec. 8 2000

Good grief, it has been awhile. I feel so "right on" lately with my feelings that I see no need to write them. Because words are meaningless and forgettable. How about that? Eh! Yeah I have been making new theories and meeting new people and all other sorts of crazy stuff. Fuck the corporation. Just a flip of the wrist there, I am quitting Target, 12/24 is my last day. Thank goodness. I am getting out of dodge, on my way to NO, that is New Orleans baby. In February, the 1st actually, Nick (a new friend) and I are going to AZ. Me for vegan solidarity, he for grandmas 75th. After that, well, we may go to NO or he may leave me there and I will either go to NO by myself (on foot) or wait for Holly Brandy to come pick me up. She is coming from LA. All in all, summer will be great…I may or may not be anywhere. And that is the perfect truth. I am leaving with a vague destination and a very loose plan and that is life folks. How do you feel about it? Like tonight, with Jigme I theorized a triple trifecta of life and why one should always be optimistic. So there is:
1. Mind Body Soul
2. Thought Word Deed
3. Conscious Sub-conscious Super-conscious
That is the triple trifecta of life. And to be happy, one must be optimistic on each of #3's levels corresponding to the other…this is how it will all look on paper

life. If I were to say my mind is the present then I have said the words (whatever they are in relation to the situation). If I said my mind were super-conscious then I am the future!!! I haven't yet happened. The way it stands now it would be rational to apply body to present saying that here and now my body has said the word and is conscious!?! But in attempt to apply this to all life and creation is impossible. Simply because TIME CONSTANTLY MOVES. So, for each level of consciousness time is moving in relation to the situation.

Dec. 10 2000

And in conti (continuance), time is still moving, especially in relation to the direct situation. Meaning: I am still going to AZ in February with Nick. I am still quitting TARGET, life still continues and stays in limbo, I guess. Because, through time, a vortex is created that moves with time but otherwise is stationery. Like a book on a shelf, for years it ages (moves with time), but is not altered or moved otherwise. It is in limbo. Waiting to be again moved, as I feel I am, but I am constantly moving. I guess through "limbo" I mean my life is waiting for a monumental change, something very defined. Until then I just move with time, like going through the motions of living, but not actually doing anything. Such is life—mine, at least. So, now we understand limbo, life and moving. And I would love for people to flip through my book, my life and move me.

Dec. 11 2000

A wash of energy and emotion—feeling emotion, beauty love and life oh my what am I doing. I haven't the slightest idea, but the most fun!! And what of that? What, truly is fun? Starvation? Death? Disease? Love? Truth? Wisdom? What? I don't know, but YES is the ANSWER. Yes, I love life full and free midnight (wife) and what of truth, be not afraid, for its wings are all encompassing as are mine (so says god) and aren't I synonymous with that being…and aren't you? What of life and vision CAN ONE NOT SEE LIFE? I certainly can and clouded my eyes aren't. I see perfectly but still don't know. What of that?

Dec. 17 2000

And the last time I was writing in here I was at the same place: Le Voyeur. And it is always the same—I will sit here and write—sloppily, almost angrily about life—I wont even read the previous rant nor open my eyes, just write. And that is like living. I will just live and if I open my eyes I will be disappointed. That is not saying that I own an expectation towards life, it is saying that my truth is more beautiful than this world of facts and generalizations. I am not general, I do not "live up". Lately my mind is 100% torn and I can feel, if not hear, it breaking. I really dislike the feeling. It goes like this: my body does something different than my mind and my mind does different than my soul and soul different from body, it is supreme disassociation AND IT IS INSIDE ME:::IT IS NOT LEAVING. Destined to be crazy, and what truly is right? So, back down to earth (whoa) yep.

Dec. 19 2000

So. I rode my bike to the library today and returned some books and CD's. I got more. Then I went to the Post Office and I got some Priority Mail boxes…..I really feel sort of bad for the people that receive these boxes. Alex LaBounty, Holly Brandt, Melissa Medrano, Tiffany Knight, Rebecca Bailitz, and some unknown sixth person. There is so much crap in these boxes, like my entire past the entire entity of Brian Bailitz resides in these boxes and they will be sent out as care packages to those people that I feel can grow easily in the way that I have and want to—and those that think they have an understanding of who I am as an entity. I want to entrench people's minds with so much diversity that it would be an impossibility to label me as a single thing. I am everything. Alex gets so much old Cold Page stuff including the elusive fifth issue. Melissa gets things that she deserves…I guess. Rebecca gets revolutionary data and how to be a child and overthrow the government at the same time. Holly Brandt gets Dallas, the entire escapadial essence of when I was there, writings, pictures, other things. Tiffany just gets so much stuff. The sixth person (whomever it may be) will get a wide array of shite passed down through the ages. There are accompanying pictures and books, poetry and prose, it is basically multimediaesque and really cool too. If I weren't who I am I would really love to receive something like this from someone—it would make me think that they care what I think about them how they feel. And that is the truth here, because I do care about these people, maybe more than they realize. Maybe more than they want to realize. Hah. I sit here and think about how I am basically discarding all of this stuff, because never again will it grace me and I would love to go through and copy everything—all the poetry all the stories all the art all the words and all the sounds and all the pictures, everything. THAT IS ME THAT IS LEAVING IN BOXES. I heard somewhere that before one commits suicide they distribute all of their personal belongings, things highly emotional. I am sending my wallet to Alex. Some keys go to Tiffany. If this isn't a sign for help I don't what is and I am not even attempting to ask for help, it is like my three parts are acting without conversing with one another. My body is registering what is happening and letting my mind know and it is saying well here is a reason body but my soul is in the dark because it is just floating around…I guess my body is trying to end itself and my mind is trying to overtake my soul, so there is still much inner conflict; soon to be resolved. I am almost finished filling these packages of love and starting to write the lengthy letters detailing what is happening here. There will be no return addresses on these packages. I do not want these back!!! Melissa I can see her just throwing hers away, and Holly I can see opening with fear and never speaking to me again, Alex doesn't talk to me anyone so it may bridge a gap, Tiffany will just say thanks and not really understand, and I think Rebecca will respond the same way. This sixth person WHO KNOWS!!

Dec. 20 2000

Early in the morning and I start to think about what makes me so happy and my past and everything else beautiful and free. TRUE TO BE. I don't even write poetry anymore. I just write, it is like how I am not a white-Irish-German anymore, I am just human, an animal. Because I sat and thought; instead of adding all the different things I am to explain that I am human, I will just say that I am human and let things un-roll from there.

Dec. 21 2000

Everything is nothing, but maybe I am not in the mood.

Dec. 22 2000

So I have officially ended my tenure as corporate slave extraordinaire (oh my god, I have no idea how to spell).

Dec. 25 2000

So, my Dad…wait. Around holidays, I try to avoid people that wouldn't have anything to say to me if it were not a "holiday". I think it is fake to use the holiday excuse. So, my dad, tries to talk to me on the computer this morning. He says Merry X-Mas I say thanx. Long pause. He says Love you I say love you too. Long pause. I say peace. Then I sign off. He wanted me to direct the conversation and being I had nothing really to say to him, I said nothing! Such is life. Last year, I think I called people…not this. I am much more secure with myself now. I can survive on my own, without anyone! So, the people that would contact me would be those that cannot "live without me" HAH! That is pompous infinitum! Suppose to be a partial solar eclipse today. It is very strange, because this will be the second one I have seen since moving out here. I stretched my labret the other day, and it hurts! I am sitting out on the balcony this morning, right now, recalling the times I sat out here earlier this summer. And thinking about how fun it was/is/will be. The sound of the rain soothes the brain. It makes life bearable and completes a circle—or cycle. I am re-remembering right now being in OHIO, selling magazines, one lady that bought from me: she was old, and that isn't all, she was beautiful. She invited me into her home with no worries, sat me down and we chatted. I don't remember what about, but I remember I was scared. Because I was part of a wheel and I had to keep moving. That, those days, were very enlightening. And, now I am here. I finished reading "Conversations with God" this morning. That was undeniable enlightenment. I could only say wow! and ponder at the end. Okay, okay. After I finished I went online to examine the website, that is when the thing with my father went down. Perhaps that is saying that I need to get in touch with him, sit down and talk for awhile. I was looking at retreats hosted by ReCreation ("Conversations" leg) about spiritual enlightenment. Perhaps my enlightenment should first be with my family and then with the world at large. I am not sure, but I will attempt to spin in a date with my father just after Tucson, and I will try to get Holly Brandt to come with. If she isn't frightened by the package I sent… Once, and again, now, on Somerset Hill, at the top and clear (to the east). Mt. Rainier clear in the distance—beauty. In the foreground trees and birds—beauty. Dogs barking and people walking, all beauty-full. Rain clouds are moving in; the sun, out. Cold settles in my skin. It pokes me to leave. Where oh where could I ever be going? Everywhere!

Dec. 26 2000

So the PAAEP had factions. Today marks the first day of the PAAEP coffee shop!! Yay! Yeah and it hasn't really lifted off yet…but it will. Hopefully. And soon. If it does, I may re-consider previous plans of traveling. Most likely not. But, hey, I will entertain any thought I want too! Oh glorious coffee, entertain my lonely hour. Hah. And thirteen year old girls may think I am cute but please attempt not Furtherment for it is not my place to float that boat. Oh my goodness, I want to close soon. And it is only seven o'clock… Oh, and Alexandria comes full force out of nowhere. Turns out she bought PAAEP.COM for me in August. That is so (totally interrupted by open mic night and a pickup—woohoo; but I forget where I was taking this…oh well).

Dec. 27 2000

I very much dislike dialing 911 and using the police in general. It seems to be an antecedent, I mean while I will call them to report so-called wrongdoings, they will stop me for suspicion. It doesn't equal out. I think I will try to take matters into my own hands from now on—as much as possible at least. I could've easily handled the situation that just transpired. And well, I guess we needn't dwell on past situations. Alas, I think of the future! And I will, I will think of Tucson in February and Texas and Chicago. My plan—no definite—may be to ride with Nick down to Tucson and leave there to Bryan/College Station. I will stay there for a bit and then destin myself for the greater Chicago land area. Possibly around June or July so I can catch Stev-o in the action. Who knows, and lets not plan. My staple. Because Tiffany said she misses me and she wouldn't mind me "dropping in" on her…like I did in NY. And I wouldn't mind it either. Have fun for a week or two in Texas. Good ole Texas. I love that place. And then, after Chicago land area perhaps I will go to Portland or New Orleans…I will have to say something soon, I am planning for the new year. Very loosely planning, but this new year holds unforeseen glory and is the gateway for my future—so, a very loose plastic plan cannot hurt anything. I always hope, because I am still a kid and everything that I do turns out well. I do my best and everything, but that offers no guarantees. And, I guess I don't even really want a guarantee, I just want to do well. It is tattooed on my arm and in my mind—I am still (always) hoping. And I guess I say "and" way too much. I don't know about tonite, I feel very compressed. Like everything about this year has been good and I am now compressing my files—making way for next years "good". I am very very happy, for everything in my life, thank/grateful and I am in love with most of the things I know…and I fall in love with more things all the time. Is this world of utter and complete love a falsity? A farce? I HOPE not! And I don't even think so either.

Dec. 28 2000

I guess not too much makes sense anymore. I have spoken of "the plan" to others today and it seems to hold merit. That is good. The big question is: How do I get from here to there? I could bike. I could bus. I could walk. I could ride. I could fly. I can do anything—but I must do something. I will ride from here to Tucson with Nick. I know that much. What I will do from there is a total mystery. And hopefully tonight I will catch the "Dub Narcotic Sound System" at Voyeur. I am here now. Waiting. I am merely going to eat, and if I catch then I do and if I don't, well , then I don't. That is that. I met this kid named Darren the other day at Altered States (where I get pierced) he said he was spinning (DJ-ing) here tonight. So, he is either part of the opening band (A Dramatization) or Dub. And, I really just want to catch up with him—entice the boy to spin "PAAEP Coffee Shop" one nite, and rock my world…if I just get the stage built. I look at people and KNOW that they are all people. They all have a reason and a history for being who they are. I really wish that sometime in my life I can learn my reason (or remember it) and pass that on to people as "who I am". That would be awesome. Sometimes I am so overwhelmed by my own irrational feelings, I feel as if I don't even know who I am. I guess that is the long and short of it, but how can I ever be sure. Children are pure and right—there is always a why and elders cannot always answer it. Because of that, "why" is dismissed as childish when it is actually of great importance and those that can flow the why furthest are those that are our geniuses …(hopefully TBC, my food just got here).

Dec. 29 2000

I have uttered the new plan to Steve and replayed it in my head—it will definitely work. Steve's bike trip sounds so easy, and I like tea. Karaoke night=no fun for me. I am tired. I should definitely be in bed by now, and I would like to be also (and it is barely 11:00 p.m.). Sure, sometimes it brings a smile to my face a bunch of ex-drug addicts and their children desperately trying to sing old songs—but, overall, it is near unbearable for a boy as tired as I am! Hopefully, after these people leave I can get some typing down for this journal. There is just so much stuff to do…I hope I can tie up all my loose ends before the end of January.

Dec. 31 2000

So, I really wanted to finish out this book in spectacular fashion. I guess wants are not always fulfilled. Anyway, today is the last day of the year, this book, and probably a few other things…but it is also a new beginning. The end of today marks the beginning of the new year and of my nine year. This marks the beginning of the end of my nine-year cycle—and I have been thinking about that a lot, probably because Steve is talking about it quite a bit. Nick mother will soon become a good friend of mine as we travel south. Things are going to change soon, and I am ready (hope) for it. The unifying thought for this past year is: we are. And that will carry on for quite awhile, our are-ness. There will most likely be a lack following the new year, as I will be devoting all of my free time to typing all of this up so I need not carry this old rag all around the country as I gallivant. So, peace and love, until again…