i'm working on something right now that will involve a whole mess of people. it's based, sort of, on an expanded version of death by photo. it will be fun to do and to read, i think. it'll have EVERYTHING. i think i can describe this as a total of all the things i did and talked about during the summer with mally, mal and locke. they'll all be contributing, most likely. so will other people. and maybe you... or something. you will all like it. for now, go to the message boards and maybe post or just read the few posts that are there so you can all anticipate it.

i stayed up until 7 am this morning playing suikoden 2. i forgot that i left off in the middle of the game when i went to SF for the summer. i've gotten almost all the way through the game now... at least i hope i have. my save point is at 31 hours, but i'm sure i've spent more time than that on it. i already finished the first game and this game has a lot of nostalgia from it... so i'm determined to finish it... but, that might be in between games of Jet Grind Radio... or maybe i'll... go outside... or whatever.

anyway, i just got 4 hours of sleep and i think toast would be nice about now.

i'm actually okay. it's not that bad. i'm just lonely for the girl that makes me happy.

i shuffled out the door, not actually shuffling, but more like rushing and scraping my feet. and also my knuckle on the gate from my haste and oblivious determination. from the gate to the car in a second, all before i could say fuck, my hand. i opened the door and floated in a thick swarm of heat that rushed out... desperately running from the place i wanted to be. my key slid into the ignition and like that... nothing. i had forgotten the pro-lock... but i'll move on as this is not really interesting at all. just filler. i did finally start the car and fumbled to start the CD player as quickly as possible so as not to be left alone with only the sound of an engine that would remind me that i'm all alone. and then i drove. i drove all the way down the street, dangerously involved in singing and banging and trying to forget that i had a vapo-rub heart burning just a few steps behind me. but it was there at all times. and i kept driving. i wanted to drive fast enough so that it would spring behind and maybe the elastic would wear out and finally snap off... leaving me okay. and not paranoid. and not sad. i wanted to drive fast enough to be with her... so fast that i'd catch her sleeping and she'd wake with me on the road, so incredibly lost that it would make more sense to keep going than to find our way back. i wanted to drive like i was the high school football star and so involved that nothing could phase me... but then, i know everything phased them. and they're wretched and sad and angry at their mothers and fathers, twisting through pretend playgrounds and rooftops and dealing with their real skies and mundane lives that they love to hate. while i was still angry with my mother, i had the real rooftops and fake skies and a life that has no certainty, but infinite possibilities... and they keep chasing. i guess i'm driving from them also. because what i'm doing is dangerous. and it's not right, you know, you need stability and a home and a 401k and many friends and i don't like your attitude what with being so in love with this girl that you would risk everything for only her happiness even though none of us even know what our own happiness is. as if we had our own happiness. as if it was something that we had the rights to. as if it was a fish that we would be able to catch and nurture. but, i'm a one man army, and i'll listen to that fucking CD over and over - singing at the top of my lungs and casting a watery eye to everyone i pass on that long road. i'm a one man army who cares so goddamn much that he's being killed. standing on the front lines and fucking crying and sobbing and weeping because i can't bear to hate anything. and all these people. who are all these people who can't stand to hear me wanting something better? who give me dirty looks when i tell them that they've hurt me? who are angry at me for being selfish enough to be hurt? who won't help when i ask.

and i'll listen to your CD and cry. and cry. and cry. and cry because i'm not with you. and cry because i'm crying. and i shouldn't. and cry because i'm so sad that it turns everyone else away... and so sad because everyone has turned away. except for you. but, i don't know where you are tonight... which probably means you're happy somewhere. which makes me happy. have you ever been happy while depressed? have you ever been happy, but not been able to even begin the tapering of a smile? and i am alone. and i don't know why. i try... i'll make lists. lists of the things that made me happy. lists of remembering us. lists that make me smile and cry three days later.

but, honestly, i can't cry. i can't cry because i'm so confused and my chest is a hole while my stomach is aching from a sickness that i keep bringing. i don't even know how to cry. i only cry when i'm so scared that i've hurt someone. but i can't cry for myself.

but, i'm driving. 10 mph. on a short country road - taking pictures out of the window. taking pictures of boring things. taking pictures of myself swerving off the road and stopping. and looking at all of these roads of nothing. i heard there was a town a few miles up (3,500). a small town with a big possibility.

i miss you. and i guess that i should.

does anyone possibly know of any freelance design/production/whatever work? i need money or i will be homeless/starve/die. anything. e-mail

i wrote this bio of mal a long time ago. since i have nothing to talk about, here:

he was born in the rugged outback of Canada. London, Ontario is the outback, right? i can only imagine that, being raised in Canada, his parents must have been eskimos. so he was born, frozen in the -5,000 degree weather, and quickly dressed in a mountie uniform to help him thaw.

mal had a tortuous upbringing. at age five he was forced into the local hockey league by his loving parents (who mal affectionately calls "those fuckers"). being the only five year old in the Maple High School Hockey League proved to be difficult for little mal. upon being tied to the goal (for use as a goalie) he was told by his fellow teammates to "suck it up, eh."

his parents forced him into hockey at such an early age because, to be quite honest, little mal was "fruity." at age 3 mal began his obsession with the dance. while other kids were busy watching the Canadian classic "You Can't Do That on Television" mal was busy watching PBS specials about the russian ballet. this may also have something to do with his desire to be russian, but mostly, it was his passion for the dance.

by age 10, mal had enough of the hockey life and decided to follow his dreams. he worked all summer, the summer of 1989, in a local moose stable and earned enough money to begin his secret dance lessons. mal was on his way.

there was only one slight hitch in mal's plan, though. mal had no toes.

oh well, so much for the dance.

so, from there, bitter with the world and his lack of tiny appendages, mal decided that he would devote his life to a career that would not only be disrespected, but underpaid as well.

mal's first stint as an artist was for his high school newspaper. there he drew eskimos with books in their hands for the front of the paper. he also created a one panel political cartoon in the paper about... eskimos with books. this was a very accurate portrayal of high school life in Canada. mal won critical acclaim from his english teacher, mr. avery. he got a gold star.

(note: sadly, he still got a D in the class. gold star does not = A)

by the time he left high school, mal was respected by millions of people in his head. so he decided to let them all know about it by creating his own website titled: "Mal's Weekly Something or Other." it was destined for success. every week mal would post a new picture of Bea Arthur for all to see. soon the hits came rolling in by the MILLIONS.

and then, an epiphany. mal had been honing his artistic skills for quite a few years. he was quite the accomplished illustrator. it was quite a thing to see. quite.

"maybe i should post artwork on my weekly site instead..." he cried to himself over a another faked nude Bea Arthur photo.

besides, Bea Arthur would never go out with him just because of his silly website. she was a big star. Golden Girls was a syndicated hit watched by tens of... people. how could he ever hope to win her heart?

but, after much deliberation, he decided that everyone would much rather see Bea Arthur in erotic poses than drawings of AniMe4EvA and he should never have even thought of it. and so it was...

so this is the mal we know and love today. Bea Arthur would be proud of what mal has become were she not old and senile... but she is.

(this bio painfully researched and written by jacob. reference sources include: playboy, ign, unofficial ycdtotv site, PBS)

don't fuck with me. i'll bio your ass so hard, it'll hurt.