Wanting to Write

I don’t even know what to say anymore. Anything I’ve managed to spew out is only worth 140 characters at a time.

But why am I writing more than that? What’s making me go? I’m not sure. It’s something in me, just wanting to come out and say something. There’s nothing much to say. She’s like any other bitch…

That makes me like any other guy? I guess that’s what I’ve wanted all along.

 

I wish I could actually write something worth reading. Something that had some sort of answers. There’s nothing here but a bunch of speculation and fear. Then I start to look around.

I need some time alone.

I need some company.

I don’t give a fuck.

I stared down a hobo.

It was about 4 o’clock in the dead heat of the day when I looped back around the Starbucks to enjoy my iced coffee. “There’s a tree giving shade, I will park my car underneath and enjoy my treat.”

There was a hobo sitting underneath the tree, sitting on his chair cross-legged and looking to the distance.

I park. He slowly glances towards me then cautiously returns his sight. I want to get on his vibe so I start to look at where he’s gazing towards. I realize he’s not looking at anything so I start to eat my pecan pie and iced coffee. I take a bite, thru the window the hobo can see. I chew and take a sip, this guy thinks I don't see his eyeballs move. I take a bite and look up. This time I chew slowly while I stare into his blue eyes. Awkward moment is awkward as he makes a crazy calk eyed look to the right. With one eye squinted and the other looking the other way, I see the white in his left eye. He looks well rested.

Seeing his head turn puts him into a quick perspective of a hobo and a flood of thoughts fill my brains. “If this guy had a rifle, his face would look like that if he was aiming.” “His legs are old like his bike.” “I wonder what his story is.” “Is this guy tripping, or what?!” “Nah, he can’t afford PCP.”

As I refocus on him my I lift my head up a bit and take a sip of coffee. “Who told them to put sugar in this?”

Back to square one where his space was taken by some guy wearing a White Sox hat. I smile this time. His brow lowers. I take it back. I look at him and take a bite. We lock eyes. We stare at each other for a bit. Then, without much else left in him. He makes a /-: and looks diagonally down.

I felt bad, I ruined his crazy hobo trip.

/-:

Gettin Stupid

I feel I’m getting dumber by the day. NOt being in school is getting to me. I feel I’m losing time. But I’m young so, I guess I should enjoy myself right? Nah, I want to be at the top NOW. I need the money. LOL

But to get there I need to work. I need to get out of my house and go to the library to study or something. I think that’s what I’ll do. Just take a text book and go over some chapters of stuff and answer a few problems from the book. Hopefully the feelings of wasting time will go away.

It’s funny how I measure time constantly. I’m glad I gave my watch to my 5 yr old cousin-ette to lose.

Now’s the time to work. MMMM- work…

The King of Pop has Died.

It wasn’t long ago that the vision in my head was still alive.

Be it a de javu; random incling; or maybe i’m making shit up. Either way, I remember the picture and thinking…. The king of pop has died. 

http://pics.livejournal.com/zarex/pic/0006e3kf

I’ve just been keeping it real and losing pounds. I feel the same. I guess it’s me that can’t get chicks. Oh God why can’t I get chicks?! Fail Wail. Get it?

I can only say that I don’t like to get stared at by creepy old ladies that think they have a shot at a good fuck. Cause you know. Old ladies can settle with a lot of stuff. I hate wal-mart.

I feel like I need to write more. I guess it’s my head telling me to get some food in it. I’ve been slacking it in the school department. I can only say that there is going to be a hill to climb. A tall rocky, sandy, hill. Yeah, that I’ll conquer on my mtn bike.

There has been a lot of changes recently. But I do feel like myself. Just with more composure because I manage to think before I speak, it feels like I can say a sentence and make some dialogue. I’m thinking it’s because of twitter. People forget that a single sentence can hold a harsh meaning. It’s perfect for people who live their lives on “quotes”. Either get some meaning behind those things or RTFM and find out why it’s so bad ass. That’s really what’s frustrating me, I just feel like I can’t do what I want because of my parents. Then I realize I don’t have anywhere else to go… But let’s not confuse thinking with being a pussy.

Good times.

I’ve had them, but nothing beats a BBQ…

Who’s down? I’m up for whatever.

Doin’ thangs.

That’s all I’ve been doing. Discovering doing stupid shit and pretending that no one is watching. But they are. Everyone is watching. At all times. They are the one’s who start the talking. You’re just around listening to the music when they start to talk.

Then, you’re given a task to do. Why? I’m not sure, but they go up to you and start talking .Why are you talking? Do I know you? When is the last time we talked? There is nothing to say then. Nothing to say unless…

Unless you’re a jackass like me. I try to be cool with everyone that at least gives that bullshit smile. Everyone that gives you an eye that you’re just not into…. Yeah, that’s them. Those people that are too “curteous” and “respectful” to tell you what you both know. You both know there is no reason to spend time with people you don’t want to get to know.

But I’m a nice guy!

At least until I start smoking cigarettes and drinking drink. Then everything turns loose. My honesty get’s me in trouble.

When you light up right before talking to a bitch your friend loves…. That’s when you know that you can either blow the smoke on you or on her. It’s up to her to realize that nothing was said other than, how are you? Was it my fault that I’m trying to be friendly?

Am I the one with the problem? Do I want to make friends with people that look me in the eye and smile? Are they faking that smile?

But that’s me. An honest guy.

I <3 Getting Older.

I was born a bad guy.  Bad guys always lose. It’s up to me to change it. Every action leads to an equal but opposite rxn.I rather work hard to change it, than to plateau at some mediocre level. After all, I am the good guy, don’t good guys win all the time? After all,I have nothing to lose now. After all, I still have the deck in my hands. Because once you start winning at your own game, that’s when progress is made. But, what work should I do? I know the answer, but it’s that I don’t have the desk.

Jesus, someone get me a desk from school…

Best birthday present ever…

Just being me. On paper, and out loud.

What I am.

To be honest, as a kid I didn't use my imagination. There was too much to learn for me to pretend that something's there that's not really there. I didn’t really need that though. I had everything I wanted, was content, and knew the value of something special. There was too much to conquer right in front of me.

It’s always been like that. I just need that spark. That one thing that can lead me to believe that it will be worth while. Right now there’s only a few things that can lead me to those great endeavors. My personal gain, money, and women.

But as proposed from the top, my endeavors are hardly up to par with the sadness of challenges.

It always makes me sad to see a challenge. I’m not sure why. But that’s the overall feeling I get, quiet, yellow, sadness. I can only be productive when I’m pissed or when I’m sad. To better myself I offer myself the challenge to be a victim. Offer myself the challenge to be the loser. But, at what cost? To work completely and say fuck you to the world. Or Come out and “a chingasos” beat the shit out of it…

The challenge. Become somebody, or become somebody’s bitch.

I think I’ll become somebody. Whoever I am. (-:

[Challenges are a peculiar thing.]