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2005-04-07 05:28:50 (UTC)


I'm chewing on a piece of gum (two actually, but they have
become one)waiting for it to lose its flavour. I can still
taste a hint of cinnamon...

Sleeping doesn't appeal to me right now. It only brings me
closer to what I've been dreading, and further from what I
like. Not like, really, but what I tolerate. What's
familiar. It's barely likely that I will succeed. The
simplest things are unbelievably difficult for me.

Tomorrow I will be venturing outside the time zone for the
first time. Unwillingly. It should have happened two months
from now. Tomorrow afternoon, I will be cargo on the ocean.
My body will float steadily away from home, protected by a
large shell full of chattering superficial people. It should
be an experience to remember. I have few experiences in
reailty, locked into my schedule, locked into my stubborn
mindset, locked inside my house... I've never liked to leave
even a window open.

Objects pick up a certain value through their experiences.
For two days I carried a letter from across the ocean in a
periwinkle gingham-print vinyl purse left over from
childhood. It was newly dangerous. It had followed me
around. It heard what I said. It had absorbed my personal
radiation. Someday I will leave it behind, the next source
of fuel for the eternal blue flame. If it's lucky, perhaps
it will be saved. Perhaps it will be appreciated, respected,
and released from the scent of my memories. Maybe it prefers
to suffer? Paper is a tricky beast able to take many shapes
and trap thoughts and feelings.

Recurring number of the month is 666. I scribbled and it
read "Satan." My name is an anagram for Yes! Hitler Lion
Cereal. My mother was born on Hitler's birthday. I woke up
one morning and the following words came to me instantly:

"deplorable condition"
it is a German dung-heap
in particular
for which I had
a most profound affection...
it wouldn't help
I suppose,
not having a viable heir
we are best forgotten.

The length patterns are creepy.
Inspector Number 11 stamped my card.

And I behave like ITALY. NOOOOO. Iago. Everyone dies. I
betray all of my friends, yet in reality, have none. There
are a few people around whom I genuinely don't mind being...
a few that I can stand...

elljay-esque petty breach from the faux-artsy crap fountain
(I notice your oeuvre is monochromatic):
Molley asked if I wanted her to drive me to school. I had
had a long talk with Jessica on the wander. We had cleaned
the memorial to Jon Jetton. Lily became Secretary of Monkey.
Taylor fixed her schedule after I "repaired" mine. Sean
discussed his campaign for the Presidency. Typical. Eric
walked up to me as I apporached the dark, empty classroom
where Interact is usually held. Ariana talked about
Christianity again. These people are all so competitive. I
want to walk away from them, except when I'm particularly
full of emotion. Usually I'm pretty low. Controllable. I'm
even having issues with Tay. And her mom thinks I'm bipolar.

I'm always only acting, just acting. What am I supposed to
be doing? When Lily moved her hands, I became very conscious
of my own. What do people do with hands while walking? Maybe
being away from everyone is good for me. I certainly won't
miss my family. I will miss school. Not the people, not the
teachers... the classes. The desks, the trees, the customs,

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