11:58pm :: "People are the true weapons of mass destruction." I thought I heard this on PBS. It made sense to me, but, after all, we really only hear what we want to hear and already understand and delegate to be true.

I can't tell sometimes whether I am being sympathetic towards myself, or whether I'm just being too counter-intuitive, if that makes sense. Nope. I'm getting tired of the ridiculous nature of things. The fact that my fate, in theory is in my hands, but in fact is in the hands of those who try to forge a path and a direction, perceived to be more correct, for me.

Lots of memories popping up now. Irony, sadness, the eccentric, and that which I think truly formed the path. It wasn't those other people, nor was it me, but rather it was the effect of those other people on me. It's always those indirect effects which really effect things the most. An spoken word, or advice, can be interpreted, taken into consideration and bypassed. Something like seeing your own fate and choosing not to follow it. But a more indirect, unspoken statement cannot be truly understood as a statement. By the mind? I think it's really the fault of our unfinished evolution. We're still too stupid to see the unverbalized as more important than the words of others.

I think I should go to the beach.

7:10pm :: Memorial Day. Built to honor heroes. Heroes who fought in wars in foreign lands. They weren't defending freedom, just the ideal of it. This is why each of the countries we've fought for now resents us. This ideal and simplistic way of looking at the divisions in the world, spawned this explicit arrogance and gave a tangible definition to "neo-imperialism." But damn. Where is this money coming from? I worry that it flows like a dry creek in flooding, and it does. But to hell with money. We need a backbone, something to complement our vertebraic nature. Where is this wind going? Lubbock? Maybe Monterrey. We must all take lessons from the plants and be more subtle, incommunitive. Otherwise the venus fly trap will soon rule the world. We've either farmed or paved all of nature, and we are left searching, in dyre need of something else to conquer. Something in our own perceived imminent domain.

It is depressing when you compare who you are and who you think you are. A "reality check" as some would say. But who wants to be depressed? I'm as happy as a fucking smurf. Ah. I need to write a paper on the social implications of smurfs. Their obvious connections to socialist doctrine, and their more implicit connection to fascism. Somewhere out there, a band is looking for a bassist. I should fill this role immediately. Slap that 4-string bitch.

The web site is almost done, and I had an idea for a video for Black Sabbath's Planet Caravan (a truly great song). Reminiscent of Buffalo '66 and an FBI Files I saw on the Discovery Channel once.

The neighbors keep yelling, and my home stays quiet. This is a lonely life. Where you cannot take for granted what you do not have, and happiness rides a thin line of a more simplistic self-conciousness. AH. Too nuts. I need to keep drinking.

9:40pm :: Under the water, could you hear breathing? Probably not.

This folklore is killing us. This adapted sense of worldly significance is what truly separates us from each other socially and culturally, however the significant themes are consistent across all of the world. What the hell.

Onions, garlic, alcohol; all making me crazy. Driving aimlessly around finally settling on red meat. Drugs? Something happened. Still something happening. It's this relentless, striking heat. My whiteness can't take it. I often feel pursued. Maybe paranoid. Maybe I want to be pursued. Flashing lights and beating eyes. We need to admonish the heroes. The social and those which exist in our folklore. Driving expectations of human existence. Often portrayed as embodiments of perfection and triumph of the will of man, but always so disappointing to those who truly dive into their lives. Lean pockets?!

9:40pm :: The job scenario. Whatever that means. I can never seem to type fast enough to satisfy my eyes or my mind (separate?). I must be up to 75wpm but it's still not fast enough. I need a leather-padded Lexus and youthful brown eyes. Strange, yes. Work not only sucks, but is beginning to drag me down into a ditch, where I could sleep, but choose not to out of fear of bugs and humans (both the same, really). The beer flows like wine. "Amber," but still beer-coloured. Drinking not with the Nazis, but rather alongside them. I miss the early morning walk through the Engineering breeze way, past the psycho-looking Hispanic guy with the exaggerated limp, past the cleaning lady who seemed to know me. She wanted to listen to loud-ass tejano like her co-workers, but just didn't have the freedom.

I feel like I've been at a bar. I need to call Tyler. I need to feel Hawaii. It's like a sorely-missed ex-girlfriend: I need the memory because I know I can't have the real thing. Even though I haven't seen Hawaii in at least 16 years, I still crave it. The memory of lying in bed with the patio door open, while the waves crash on the beach below, and the wind ripples through the ominous palm leaves. Coconuts kill more people every year than you could ever imagine. For what? Are coconuts god's way of keeping people the fuck away from Hawaii? It is after all a false paradise. One of those images, edited by a couple of bickering, heartless individuals at a chamber of commerce in Hilo, who took the job because there was nothing else. Nothing else exists really.

Today I was reminded of something which really put things into perspective: the fact that no matter how great everything else is, there will always be something there to drag you down.

When I get excited, I bruise myself. It's simply following the music in my drummerly fashion, but it still hurts. Whatever, the music continues.

10:07pm :: The money just is never as plentiful is it seems. Bills pop up like flowers out of the sand; unexpectedly. Coffee would be nice now, but it's just far too late.

But damn it, that's just money. I have more, it will never truly burn itself out. No bills, no rent, no worries. A wide, open road. At least, that's the dream. Kill all hippies, but do so mercilessly. I'm thinking of a concert, a party for those who hate parties on Mt. Graham, or maybe in the desert west of Tucson, near Sells, out where the stereotypes were bred for the zooification of a culture forcibly homogenized. But enough of that. I could use some food, but there is nothing. I guess there is always rice, dirty dishes, but they don't attract. The smells are upsetting, but not to the point of making me worry. To be carefree is the supposed goal of most, but anxiety is that true sense of life that really lets us know we're alive. The adrenaline, the succeeding melatonin, or whatever hormones our body's feel necessary to squirt out. Sure, that's enough. I'll develop pictures tomorrow and send them out the same day. Late night? Yes indeed, even though I promised myself sleep tonight.

10:55am :: Christian children's television. Wholesome lessons in ethics through song and direct teachings, supplemented with the gospel. Desperate for electronic music; need a sequencer. What else? Nothing. It drips down my walls and straight underneath my floor. a