10:08pm :: Pictures of fields without fences. I like to think that this one of the things that drives me: a somewhat metaphorical search for the virginity of life. Whatever that means. I'm tired, very tired. I've seen a lot, and seen more this past week: the snowy peaks of Western Colorado, the lights of Las Vegas, the blue waters of Malibu, the eerie Salton Sea, the intriguing Kitt Peak, the glowing expanse of Sonoran Arizona, and the entrapment of White Sands. Don't forget the music. Too much to mention really.

A thought: English cannot do justice to beauty simply because we do not have enough words for colors. Most words for colors are adopted from other languages, or are made up by Sherwin Williams. There are so many possibilities in color, and by not exploiting it fully, we're allowing ourselves to live short of beauty's full potential.

Okay. After school ends I feel like it will be time to fully embrace more intense creativity. Sure, the learning process slowly grinds to a groaning stop, but to a certain extent, it exploits any kind of youth energy I can offer. Right now it's like 10:30, and I have to study Marketing. I feel like making music, web pages, images, but I have to read about homogenizing the world markets, and how I should be a part of it. Suspicious cereal, and strange phrases: that french toast tastes alone.

Pictures of fields without fences is not nearly as metaphorical for me as it may seem. It represents the better part of a quest for the mastering of an environment, the same environment that's all around me, but can only expose itself absent of habitation. It's what drives us to seek land ownership: the American Dream, we need this piece of indentity, around which we can establish our lives. This is bullshit I think. Why not have an apartment and feel that same breadth and fullness in an ever-changing landscape? Whatever that means.

11:45pm :: Things look promising only shortly. What we can see on the road in front of us so often raises our spirits, but that invisible and dark horizon over the next hill always worries us. Too damn philosophical? Yes. Thinking too much? Definitely. A night of spending money, but what's money in the face of wasted time? Damn it. Late nights kill my newfound fascist schedule of little sleep. We're all fighting against the taboos of boredom, idling, and maybe the subsequent isolation. Without beer in my mouth, how I am supposed to remain a diligent soldier? I believe I've done my part, as an American, to support the good and godly cause. I think that we all have, although unwittingly. I do plan one day to go to the Chinese consulate, which is strangely being worked upon by ONLY Chinese men, and yell in Mandarin about the structural quality of the building. Ni zen me le! But that's for an alternate universe surely. Next door to the streak through Kroger, and the more implicit array of colored rocks. Terrorists? No, just someone with a strange sense of direction, but still serving his country for the advancement of the cause. Why is that when mired in drink we forget our problems, but when mired in our problems we don't forget drink? No, I'm not drunk. Quite the opposite, the small amount of alcohol consumed this evening is long gone from the system. Bye bye. What can I do with my large hands, hairy legs, and mole next to my nose. Take pictures of everything, and try to savour this small bit of youth. This journal is actually a great compliment to this idea, and I hope it will never be lost and that when I have reached that impending last step of silent resignation, that I will actually look back and know that I did at one time think I knew what I was talking about. I do know that I don't inside, but I still like to talk as if I do, because this is what they want. Like I said, I'm serving the cause, I'm being a good soldier, and I'm insisting on butter. But maybe only just this once. Desert treks. They'll all end quickly, and my mind will spawn an even more ridiculous endeavour. Fingers slip, and I've lost my grip on a ledge over a landscape which I told myself I would never forget; one that I could just stare at all day, mindlessly. rooster. chicken. it all tastes like meat, because chicken tastes like meat. get it?

8:03pm :: A GPA, a dollar amount, and the count of empty bottles on the fridge. More numbers. Numbers define everyone: our socials', our licenses', our digits', our cells', they're just ways of objectifying us. Reading too much into it? Oh, I 'd say definitely. The wine is seemingly in endless supply when money abounds. This is the same money which will supposedly carry me to the Great Western Odyssey and Beyond. But who knows. The great trek to Southern California now also includes Colorado. This will involve a straight drive of roughly 18 hours. No sleep? Fuck it. I guess I could sleep, but fuck it. Roughly 5PM to 11AM (or 10AM rather, considering the time zones). I'm imagining the landscape of an endlessly green Colorado, sprawled out along a highway where people pass it, oblivious to the true, deep, and virginal beauty of it all. I'm no exception, this I realize. It's time for a world where no one speaks clearly, and all that is important to us is taken OUT of its context, into a more ambiguous nature. What?? Ignore that. Wine is important to man's survival. Without wine, we would not have gotten this far. Wine and music. Western vices? Possibly. Cheese, God's vice. God's son was resurrected this weekend, by some unknown force who appears to us in psychadaelic trances and schizonphrenic delusions. I talk to God all the time, he's a cool guy. But never mind this. Tomorrow is another presentation, one which truly defines my cynnicism and rhetorical nature. Anything to piss someone off. The car needs to be acquired, I must get out on the road, to an open sky, to a much more open and free mind. Work, play, then live how you'd like despite your contemporary influences, for they never know what is in your best interest. Gaskl;djf

12:20am :: Oh sure, gospel spreads itself. The neo-facists were underneath the I-10 overpass today, probably sending the message to their flock about how deprived people are, while the film crew kept yelling at the bums who came and asked them for money. A lot of bums around there, living under the bridge on North Heights over White Oak Bayou. Beer and a cowboy hat, smashing pumpkins. Boom. People look at my wearily, but with indifference. I need to go to Louisiana to gamble. I'll drive down I-10 in my cowboy hat with the wheel in one hand and a beer in the other. Drivnig quickly, but slowly nonetheless. Oil changes and recycling; the wastes of modern society stack up quickly. The human population grows faster than ever, evading the natural population controls.God is running around, dropping his papers on the ground while everyone else rushes by him, indifferent. Indifference is what truly makes us American, from the bum who has asked me in both my modes (clean-cut and dirty slob) for change at Popeye's to the female bartender at Rudyard's whose name I never bothered to ask. When will this slow down and take its course? Slowly, but certainly downward. Coachella still looks great in the poster now next to my computer. Purple and orange San Bernardino National Forest over the over-watered Palm Springs. It's no longer an oasis, just a sponge, soaking up what little water can be drawn from the moutains. We'll see how it goes. My craving for alcohol sometimes scares me. After finishing roughly 1/3 bottle of wine and a Carta Blanca, I am still hungry. I've been eating quite a bit lately, trying to satiate some sort of hunger I don't even understand. Not really food, not really drink, I guess I just don't know. The Smashing Pumpkins remind me of Shanghai, driving my scooter down Gu Dai Lu late at night, dodging 6-ton bulldozers and gawking Chinese men. The fearless boy turned into the indifferent man. Maybe. But now all of this makes me weary. Shoop, da-oop.

10:35pm :: Biscuits? Water? Yes. It's hard to eat without drinking. Today, gas. Tomorrow, smoothie. Work. Work is...long. I know I'm trapped, but I can look through the bars. It's not too late. Coachella is close, very close. Maybe two weeks. The new Great Western Odyssey looms post-Summer, maybe earlier. Maybe I am trapped, but it's only temporarily. Where is the dead man I'm trying to become? Why haven't I found his book, his hand-print in the mud? My computer is once again a tower, and not the towering inferno. It needs a new hard drive, this is a given. But enough of this. Right now the wine slowly recedes from my blood stream, the gourmet French muenster makes its way through the GI. No more, this is bullshit.

9:10pm :: There is a connection in my mind between the French language and finding a bass player for our band. Unexplainable, somewhat. Austin will be difficult this weekend. Hard-pressed to follow up on inherently plagued personal agendas, or at least thwart unpure intentions. Whatever. Everytime I sneeze in front of this screen, a speck of mucous sparkles with Red hearts, Green clovers, and Blue horseshoes. I realize that it's not right, but who cares.

A week full of revelations of the homosexuality of others. Not so much threatening as surprising. To feel threatened would mean feeling discomforted, not with the presence of others, but with instead with oneself. WHATEVER.

Sigur Ros is still awesome, even though I was wrong about their Coachella appearance. This will be a true experience, I believe. Driving a relative stranger's car across the Great West. Everything In Its Right Place. Everything falls into place, albeit slowly.

Man, Wicca is bullshit. Even moreso than Karl Marx. Close-minded nature: GO.

I need some time to work on the Shuai Ge site. The redesign is done, basically, but needs to be implemented. Someone emailed me today about the Highways page saying I needed a location icon. Sure, I'll just pay $30 for one of the few programs that can create a correct ico file and use it for one site. The one time I used the trial version, I fucked it up and made one 1/16 the size it was supposed to be. I'm smarter and brighter than bears and bulls. Don't feed them, it screws up their society. Delicate society.

Good ol' Arby's. Mega-Man-Meat sandwiches with three choices of condiments. Don't forget the cherry turnover. And how about a nice cold Coca-Cola which carries a $0.25 refill charge. The Nazis have surely infiltrated the fast food industry. When will the cheap bastard of a college-aged male be able to get free hot mustard sauce and drink refills? It's sure not the COGS but the overhead. Figure it out, Goebels. Enough.

2:30pm :: Oh, if I only I were Icelandic. I would adjust my eyes to the new shades of green and put on a kilt just to feel cool summer wind. But damn. This is a nice time in life. Declarations of abstinence, lazy Tuesday afternoons, great Icelandic rock concerts, strange foryers west. Life does not remain this way, this I realize. Although, it will stay this way as I long as I choose it to. How long? ? The Verizon Wireless Theater sells piss beer and Ore-Rida (?) fajita fries with ketchup on them. I am going to open a burrito joint in China. The burritos will be tailored to Chinese tastes, but they will still be tasty.

But enough, I am drinking before 5pm, before 3pm. The traffic snarls by far away from my window. The wind sweeps away the sun but leaves us all refreshed. Damn it. Now that concerns have been alleviated, all there is left is to dwell selfishly, remaining indifferent to the macro-environment.

I think I should watch Holy Grail tonight. "Why do you think I have this outrageous accent?!" Nice. What happened to those nice people? Grew up and became typical assholes? Maybe.