Doodoo

I fucked it. Aaron just left for Boston. I came home from the airport. I was thinking that his wise, reasonable words curb my jumbled, dramatic thoughts. I pulled into the parking spot, but I guess I thought the gas was the brake and I slammed into the stones in front of the spot. It felt like an attack. I hit my face on the wheel. I thought there'd be blood in my teeth, but I just tasted a little. I felt very stupid and predictable. I hit my knees on the steering column. It's broke. I couldn't turn the wheel much. I put a headlight case back on. My license plate is dented. The car won't start. I'm supposed to go to Johnson's Backyard Garden to volunteer tomorrow morning. Maybe I should call to get it fixed. Very embarrassing. Waste of money. Someone with a car to take me there early (8) tomorrow.
What the hell. I feel like I'm not going now. I guess it should be fixed, or maybe new car. I have no money and no job prospects. I love everything but it's so pointless. Damn God on beech... sheeet.... faaaakkkkee rrrrrrr. I miss Aaron already. Just four months to go. Who to do? What to go? Where to be? How to say?

Depressing grey day. 15,000,000,000 blowsnobs. I tried. I try. I am a little, feeble, bleak, tossed salada.
What kinds of things are good. Julie. Hang out, walk, talk to julie. ... Okay... Bye, freend.

Social

Why do I avoid activity and social interaction?

Am I afraid of something?

I'm afraid that I will really enjoy myself, and that everything will seem perfect and I'll love the light and love the air on my skin and in my lungs, and love the sounds, and then I'll be overwhelmed with perfect feelings and I'll be so happy that I want to cry, but someone will be there and I won't want them to see me cry, and I'll feel awkward and wrong, and I'll imagine that this person hates me and wants me to die and then I'll want to die, also I'll want to die because I don't want this perfect moment to end and give way to an unperfect moment. Also, I'm afraid that everything will go perfectly, and when I should be happy, instead I'll feel nothing and I'll think that nothing can really make me feel anything and I'll think that there is no point to anything.

So that is a problem. I'm listening to Zombies by Sunset, over and over, maybe I cannot lose all my bright happy senses while I hear this wonderful song. 

It is all in my head. What keeps me in my head? What stops me from calling him and taking a chance? Because it is so unsure. Anything can happen, and that scares me. I want to stay in my apartment, where I can control most of what happens and I am around familiar things, and the only thing that scares me is being trapped here and hating it and feeling nothing and missing out on everything beautiful outside of these walls.

Why should life be much more beautiful outside of these walls than inside of these walls? Why should I believe that the outside world is really there and I'm not just a brain? Because my brain is the outside world, because it's all the same. It's all the consciousness of a divine entity. All matter and energy and non-matter and non-energy is one simple thought, but not the kind of thought that a brain thinks, a much wider, simpler thought, like a pop, like a ring from a tuning fork, like Om, like the deepest breath ever. 

That's my take on it. Good bye now.

A dream, a night, and a morning.

On the second floor of a nice old condo with my family. I dunno. Wiating for relatives to come, getting ready for a party. It's crowded. Food, kitchen. Mom. Holy roman empire. Senate buildings, tall columns, old brown concrete. Cloudy day, only sunlight comes into room. I am accused of falsely applying for credit. Only someone else can apply for you. It doesn't make sense. The judges wear red and are stern and commanding. I am sentenced, exiled. We're on a city on top of a mountain. I am dressed all in black and painted black. I start walking away, then something forces me swiftly out of the city lower to cliffs. I am falling trying to avoid stone walls and columns. I redo  this fall a few times like it's a video game. Then I just soar off a cliff, flying towards a stone wall, I worry about breaking all my bones. I step off it. I'm falling almost parallel to the ground far below. I fall towards a forest. Long thin trees. I see large eagles everywhere sitting in the treetops, they look hostile, I don't want to smack into one.  I grab onto the top branches and swing around on them trying to slow my self down and lower myself safely to the ground. The tree bends incredibly and I transfer to another tree. I do get to the ground and roll unharmed. I feel as if I am only about a tenth as tall as thought I was. I see a school, several buildings  and people outside close by. I don't want to be seen, in case of trespassing or something. It's about dusk. There seems to be some public gathering, barbecue or something, behind maybe the school cafeteria. It is all unbecoming. I am thirsty so I go to an ice tea dispenser, but when I pull the tab a little bit of brown tea ice sticks out and stops, looks really syrupy. Some woman, like a lunch lady, comes to help, but I just take the lid off the dispenser and use my styrofoam cup to scoop some icy tea. I drink some thinking it will be way too sweet, but I'm thirsty enough not to care, the ice is nice.

That's my dream, beam. The Roman senate part was more psychedelic and technical than I can remember.

Last night Pat skipped work. Mom called me, made me feel uncomfortable and guilty. She talked to pat for a few minutes. Pat decided on Popeye's for dinner. We watched Mission Impossible Ghost Protocol and made fun of it, not that that was our intention. Sawyer from lost had a lot to do with it. We always made fun of Lost. We paused it in the middle to get ice cream from amy's. Delicious mexican vanilla.

Patrick and I watched a two hour youtube video called an evening with Kevin Smith. I don't like him much, but he's pretty funny sometimes and says some smart stuff.

Both having a job and not having a job seem ridiculous. Pat and I went to HEB because he wanted Zingers, even though he knows hostess doesn't exist anymore. He bought some Krimpets by tastycakes and a bag of caesar salad kit. People there. I looked at some. I wonder what they do. 

There was a pallet of ramen noodles about 8 feet high. I wonder how there is so much food around. There is not a lot more to life than food. I want to see what Craig's farm is like. Only two acres, like a big garden. His email scares me. I cannot call someone. I cannot answer phone calls. 

Listening to tobacco was thick. Headachey. I listen to Michelle Blades now. Wispy. Clear, tall, night, lights, thin, soft, cold, smooth. Strawberry ghost feels good. New weird america, folks. Sing a song. Cripple. Sensual, crying.