on a lighter note. here are some juicy tidbits that might not be tasty to anyone, but they certainly are to me.


0. I literally wasted my sunday trying to get a) the internet, b) my cable modem, and c) my router to speak the same language. I did everything I knew how to do, and then I did everything I didn't know how to do, and nothing worked for eight hours. in the end I have no idea what I did but now it works, both flawlessly and inexplicably. I hate and love that.


1. you can now play my music! well, you won't be able to hear it, but I'll be able to, and you get to control it through the magic of the webternet.

this will only occasionally work: in your browser of choice type 68 (dot) 185 (dot) 59 (dot) 147 (colon) 1984. if nothing happens it's because I don't have winamp running, which means I'm in bed (which is a rare (and at very least a horribly unpredictable) thing). unadulterated webternet magic by wwwinamp.


2a. WASTE_PUBLIC_KEY 20 2048 antimatt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WASTE_PUBLIC_KEY_END


2b. refer to above spamproof ip address. the one with all the dots.


3. FreeMind is quite probably the neatest piece of software I have ever seen. it is potentially infinite; my fingertips tingle with delight/nerve damage. I hope soon to be able to let you in on some of the things I've done so far. oh what a juicy tidbit. best for last. (java required.)



cheers, luddites.

the saddest thing in the world is driving past a crematory at night and seeing chimney smoke. maybe it's the lateness of the hour. no it's not.

hopes and dreams include, exclusively, las vegas and april and you. okay fine, those top the list but it's not exclusive. yes it is.

we don't have milk for cereal or coffee or tea in the morning and guess who gets stuck with milk run duty. one guess. go on, guess; you'll never guess. yes you will.

I'm not usually emotional for no reason but I think I might cry tonight. I take it back; I have my (many and varied) reasons. no I don't.

we have explosive.


I find myself at the beginning: the oh-so-handy referral counter has, inexplicably, reset itself. how odd.

I find myself still unemployed and still borderline unmotivated. having been jobbin' for three months, what do I have to show for it? one bollocks'd interview and a host of ignored résumés. I know that a job is just around the corner. I just have to look hard enough to find the right corner. and if I keep telling myself that, that's all it will take.

I find myself cleaning a house I don't really want to be in. I want to be out. gone. done with it. moved on.

I find myself. (no, I really don't.) recently I told a friend of mine that if humans can't find meaning in their lives, then they're pretty good at creating meaning instead. I fail it on both accounts.

blah blah blah, boo hoo. introspection is lame. why didn't I stop me?


I find myself leaving it up to chance:
heads = delete.
tails = publish.

even though either way, I know I'm going to hit 'publish post' and be done with it.

whatever.

the home stretch: three days to go. and as the days go by the queue gets larger and larger.

on the horizon: uppers in the morning, downers in the evening. what a strange lump of chemicals I am, being so easily persuaded by other, smaller, pill-shaped lumps of chemicals.

when I got home tonight there were six messages on the phone. specifically there were six messages on the phone for my roommate. I don't know why I have a phone anymore. I could easily disconnect it and hide it somewhere in the house, like in the washing machine, and he would never know where to find it. if you know what I mean. all of my calls come through the mobile, because that's the only number I give out. so why do I help pay the phone bill? it's an interesting situation, really. it seems that it would be more fair to have the roommate's girlfriend help pay the bill and also some rent besides.

ROOMMATE it is your turn to do the dishes, they are developing a funk and so am I.

(I'm choosing my battles, though; you all would be very proud of me.)


where has all my substance gone? I'm afraid I must have dropped it into the envelope I used to pay the phone bill last month.



[aside: made you look.]

the old conundrum:
you click 'post to your journal,'
but have naught to say.

[tangent: I'm opening up with a tangent. how odd. the point is: don't drink on a sunday night/monday morning when you have class the next day. there's something about my particular bodily chemistry that makes me stay awake when I drink, and I haven't figured out why. it shouldn't be this way. everyone else falls asleep. I wish I wasn't the exception. at least I don't get headaches.]

freedom, help me, I'm fairly intoxicated.

freedom, I know you're reading this, but you don't necessarily have to reply (though you can if you want to). I was going to post after I got home after the alcohol-free new year's eve party, but then I completely forgot because I got too drunk too quickly. evidently I'm currently not too drunk, because I'm correcting my grammar and spelling errors as I go. but screw capitalization, that's what I say. except for the word "I." it's only capitalized because it's habit and I just can't break it. freedom, this isn't all directed at you per se; it's not even directed. I'm just letting my fingers do the talking at the moment. freedom, when I close my eyes I stop moving and the world goes on without me. it's not fair.

oxytocin, if you're reading this, please reply. I've always wanted to see a picture of you. I recall reading somewhere that you have dyed hair and multiple piercings somewhere in your facial area. I'm completely and utterly intrigued. I want to know what you look like. you have the distinct honor of being the first person in the universe to have responded to one of my posts, and for that I'm eternally infinitely indebted to you. this is how you can pay me back. (ha ha that's a joke.)

dan, if you're reading this, please reply. for no reason at all. perhaps I just want affirmation. I'm jealous that your forum continues to attract more viewers than mine do. by a factor of five. kiss it, popular boy. but don't take that personally. I mean it in the best possibly way.

stacy, if you're reading this, send me a message. I've been mentally infatuated with you since approximately the first time I read your journal. you're acutely poetic. I aspire to you. I know it may seem that I obsess about you, excessively, in various posts I've made. don't get the wrong impression about me. I'm not a stalker. promise. word is bond.

nmrboy, if you're reading this, please reply. and know this: you're gifted. if I could steal your writing ability, I would. no questions asked and if I had to spend some time in prison so be it. that's likely the alcohol speaking but it's the truth. it's like some dead latin guy said: 'in vino veritas.' it saddens me that you never replied to the message I sent you. if you were too busy, I could understand.

topavia, if you're reading this, please reply. your offspring (I'm thinking of Madison here) are as wordularly (ha ha not a word) gifted as you are. you have done the world an unquestionable favor by passing your excellent genetic material on to the next generation. awesome people rule and you are one of them. and I'm so sorry your uncle passed away. my best friend died in a car accident two years ago next month. I still cry about it. if I'm not careful I'll cry about it right now. the point is that there are people out here who know what it's like. you're a good person; I feel this on a very deep level. I wish you the best of luck with Marcus. I don't think I'm jealous. if I keep telling myself I'm not jealous, I won't be. right?

impervious pretenses, if you're reading this, please reply. and thank you for calling me "pretty witty" once. at least I think that was you. if it wasn't you, please reply anyway. it's fun and free.

horny boy, if you're reading this, don't reply. I don't believe you anyway.

jim_, if you're reading this, please email me some LSD. I've always wanted to try it. and maybe some mescaline, if it's not too much trouble. you seem like the type of person who might have some extra just lying around.

justjane, if you're reading this, please reply. you might have changed my future for the better. thank you for your encouraging words and the direction you gave me about being a writer. and thank you for your excellent sense of humor. celine dion = sauron. I love you. though completely platonically. and you're not allowed to tell my fiancee I said that.

antihero, if you're reading this, please reply. even though you stole the 'anti' prefix that was my trademark, I still like you. write a jeepney in my honor? amabo te? -that's a latin idiomatic expression equivalent to "please" in english, and you're certain to oblige me because of my apparent intellectual prowess. this I know.-

sir_johnathan, if you're reading this, stop reading this right now. you're not welcome. I don't like you.

thedreamer, if you're reading this, reply if you feel like it, but here's what I want you should do: print this post fifty times, roll the printouts up into tight little tubes, and then shove them directly up your conservative butt. light the protruding end on fire if you wish. then take a large black permanent marker and write "I HATE NIGGERS" in capital letters on your chest and on your back (getting a friend to help you) and run naked through the middle harlem at about 4:30 in the afternoon. for more better results, get a bullhorn and shout "I'M A NEO-NAZI AND I LOVE ADOLF HITLER, WHITE POWER FOREVER" into the bullhorn. actually you can reply if you want. but know that I don't like you very much.

george orwell, you're not reading this because you're dead. so you don't have to reply. but just the same, thank you for 1984.

God, you probably don't use a computer, but if by some stroke of luck you're reading this, thank you for the little things. I've always believed in you. no reply necessary.

alcohol, if you're reading this, don't reply, just know this: you're welcome in my system any time EXCEPT SUNDAY EVENINGS. you're ruining my life. I really should be sober on monday mornings and we both know it, you jerk.

dah dee dum, I think I've lost a lot of inhibition.

I've noticed that most of the newer journals I've read recently all make a debut post containing some comment about how the journaler 'really doesn't hate life.'

fuck that noise. yes you do.

at least in part, we all do. it's part and parcel of the human condition—a prerequisite to living, if you will. you drink to escape. you shoot up to escape. you watch a film to escape. you listen to music to escape. you read a book to escape. whatever you do to escape, you do it because you don't feel like your life is as good as it could be. so you abandon your life for a while and become something else. there are so many ways to escape reality, it's amazing anyone stays here at all.

in other news, we're seriously considering eloping. weddings are 1) expensive 2) expensive 3) expensive. and since my beautiful bride-to-be is inexplicably paying for half, that means that it's going to be plenty expensive for us personally as well. I'm coming to the point, and it is this. we figure that if we just run off somewhere, we can buy all the items on our registry ourselves, endure the inevitable cynical comments from the ever-loving family members, and still come out (at least finacially) on top.

don't tell her I said this, but weddings are stupid. no seriously, they are. okay maybe not, but the time spent planning them sure is.

today a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed into a slow vibration; that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. there is no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we are just an imagination of ourselves. here's tom with the weather.

(thank you, tool. you made my night. er, morning. whatever.)

I sincerely hope I don't wake up with a headache. I'm thankful for excedrin. sounds like dexedrine. acts like speed. equals train of thought writing.

continuing in this same vein: I hate the taste of alcohol. for example. a shot of vodka makes me want to turn my head all the way around, about fifteen times. think "the exorcist." lucky me, I have the brain of a human! the human brain is completely adaptable to any situation! so if a particular human brain decides that it likes being drunk yet hates the taste of that which makes it drunk, it will find a way around the horrible taste. and that's what my brain has done. it has found a way around the warning my mouth gives, and gets drunk anyway—and in this way, my brain is committing slow suicide. damn adaptability.
hmm. quarter to four. is it late? I can't tell. my typing is amazingly clear. I think. I'm not exactly sober.

holy crap. this is a long post. I think I've lost all the inhibition in the world.

I'll just save myself further embarrassment and stop here.

freedom, that's about all I can give you tonight. thank you for this forum. it's like the nice soft couch at the friend's house where you got too drunk one night and started to walk home except you weren't walking in the direction of your house, instead you were walking toward the wal-mart in your town and once you realized where you were going you just could not force yourself to backtrack and go home so you had to go back to your friend's house where I'm going to have to sleep tonight, most likely on the nice soft comfy couch that's comfy like your forum. and I'll be going to sleep on the comfy couch in about … right now.

"life is a crystal." -ian malcolm (on morphine), 'jurassic park'

I love you all. you're all part of the beautiful crystal of my life. and I mean that.

I'm done and gone.

buh-behh.

-matt.

I saw "Requiem For A Dream" in a theater with some friends when it came out, and I left in a suicidal daze. I just watched it again, fully prepared for its effects. And holy wow, that's a good film. It's honest. It shows people at their worst. It's terrible/terrific commentary. Plus it fit my mood.

For the nth time in my life, I've seriously considered dropping out of school and becoming a farmer. Or a poet. Even a bum. I'm sick of the whole college scene. I'm sick of all the cocky freshmen and their cell phones and their delusions of grandeur. I'm sick of classes that don't appear relevant to me. Jeepers. Get me out.

A poet. Yes. Sounds nice. They get paid six figures, right?