i have this occasional reccuring dream about a murderous little baby that can't die. it's really creepy and absurd and terrifying. what's most terrifying is that i can't remember it killing anyone in my dream... but i can remember being frightened of it and the many ways in which i try to kill it: running it through a meat grinder, throwing it off roofs, shooting it in the belly a few times with a handgun and many more very graphic ways. but it never dies. ever.

my mother has a dreamers encyclopedic type reference book that supposedly tells you what your dreams mean. there is no listing for 'murderous babies' or 'homicidal babies' or 'nightmare on baby street' or 'baby T-2000' or even 'various attempts at killing a baby'. it does, however, have a listing for 'baby':

"... if the baby was ugly or in any way displeasing to you, look out for treachery in someone you are inclined to trust."

considering that these dreams have been reccuring for a few years now, i don't even know.

all i do know is that the baby is mean. really fucking mean.

the weather is tricking me. as a californian, i find only 1 degree of difference between cold and warm weather; 64 degrees and 65 degrees, respectively. i'm learning to be californian again. yes, i did spend half a year (the coldest half) in various parts of the eastern united states, but the weather is much different here. it might even be something in the air that makes you a little cry-baby about even the slightest cold weather the instant you set foot in california. not that i don't like cold weather; i love it. but, i'm just saying that the difference between cold weather in california and cold weather in the mid-west and the east coast is very large (those southern states excluded, obviously).

anyway, back to how the weather is tricking me: when i walked out of the house tonight, the temperature must have been about 62 degrees... but as soon as i reached my destination (i went to the mall) it rose back up to about 68. these are two dangerous extremes. i almost went back to put on my coat before i drove away. luckily, i didn't - i might have sweated at some point, kind of. obviously 68 isn't hot (especially for california. 115 is hot), but still, it's not coat weather.

i hope it does get cold soon. that jacket is just sitting there, not doing a thing. it's a shame, or whatever.

but, leaves have been falling in the backyard all day long - that's saying something, i think. i guess if there's one thing i can count on, it's for the leaves to change color and die. though, that does seem a bit vague. i might as well say that i can count on water to be wet.

whatever, fall fall autumn fall. let's see how i react.

jesus. honestly, everywhere i turn, there are signs that keep flying in my face to let me know that i must be old. i'm watching closed captioned television, my body is constantly tense and sore, and i've noticed that my vision is starting to get worse.

actually, i don't really mind that my vision is getting worse; i think it would be great to have glasses. i'm certainly shy and quiet enough - maybe getting glasses would somehow justify all of that and give me that "guy with glasses" edge. i mean, obviously i can understand the drawbacks of it all - dependent on an inanimate object, inability to become too active with them on, the ridiculous cost - but, i have to make the bright side of these things bigger and easier to swallow so i don't go insane.

but, then again, i have no money... so, i don't even know.

but, the whole thing with the tense body could easily be solved by a massage... by anyone, really. i actually enjoy giving massages. it's very likely that it has something to do with wanting to be liked and doing something to make that possible... but i mean, hey, everyone wins in that situation, right?

or whatever... but wait, i really would like a massage or some other form of muscle relaxant therapy. my entire body has been tense and stressed and destroyed for a good 4-5 months now. i don't think anyone has even touched me in that long... or... oh yeah, i hugged mal, corey, josh and i don't even know how many other people in san diego. but that was still 2 months ago. this seems strange to me... should it? to not be touched by another human being in that long?

anyway, i'm so old. and i can feel the rain a comin'. i feel it in my bones. mark my words.

trying to watch moulin rouge, muted with closed captioning. "~\o la-la-la-la-la-la-la. without trust there is no love! ~\o"

hearing gunshots outside. some sort of shootout.

so goddamn tired of this place.

as i'm pulling out of the drive, on my way to buy cookies, i suddenly get the urge to turn the wheel in an aimless direction and follow one of the many mysterious visalian roads out of this place until morning. but just as i reached the end of the drive, Some Bullshit Escape plays up through the fashionable tape i made myself and out into the tiny personal speakers. perfect timing, really.

these things are always better in the planning stages. it all seems so romantic and cathartic; but no matter where i go by myself, i'm still lonely. i'm just lonely in a new place.

i watched Texas Chainsaw Massacre with commentary tonight. somehow, everything seems very surreal now.

you know, driving alone at night is very romantic and it's surprising for me to say so. looking straight ahead, the lights dance around your collar and the music is your soundtrack. because we all know that romance equals film. or film equals romance. even experimental film. actually... my life, as of late, is most certainly independent experimental cinematography. it's the only thing i have to keep it interesting, i think. fixed push shots on the streetlights and road, adding my own tint of green.

i defy your script formulas and write my climax in the quietest way possible; and the resolution is a trip back to the drive. park the car. write dis-eloquent independent experimental prose about all of it. eat cookies.

there are times that i wonder if ironing over the past is good for me at all. but there are always things that stick out; things that are good and happy. the past might never be the way we remember it. the past seems to be often retroactively changed by the present, but really the past is only what it was.

but, having records of these things seems to be a good thing, i think. records are proof of what was... and no matter what you tell yourself, it was good. it was happy. it was amazing. it was one of the best times in your life... so, don't go forgetting that because of what you've been told now. luckily you have that proof in photographs, songs and transcripts. no one can change that for you, no matter what they say... because you know what the truth was, even if they say it wasn't the truth.

so, anyway, i'm saying: don't let the best memories you have go to waste - don't be cynical. i don't think i'm really in any sort of state to preach (not that i ever was), but there it is. don't deny that you were happy, because it will only make everything harder and more hopeless. also, take as many goddamn photos as you can and write down everything you can about every single second that you're happy. just don't forget it.

most people don't know this, but my first major breakup was in... 4th grade, i think. i had two friends for a few years in elementary school. one was ryan, who was probably the biggest character of a friend i've ever had. he was a genuine hypochondriac - so much so that he would carry a bag a tissues in his pocket and wipe off door handles before he touched them (you can imagine how much we traumatized him when we stuck a sock in his mouth while he was asleep at a sleepover party). i would occasionally go over to ryan's house and we'd sit in his garage making intricate mazes on lined sheets of paper for each other to solve (very intricate actually; 1/16th in. wide corridors that filled up an entire 8 1/2 x 11 sheet of paper).

the other friend was paul. paul was this little tiny understated boy with freckles. i guess i spent most of my time with him and at his house. the new popular game at the time was The Legend of Zelda for NES and we'd all go over and play... or rather, he would play and we would coach him from the sidelines (video games were a big part of our childhood). we did other things too - he would occasionally come with me and my mother on trips to pismo beach where we would take a boat out to see the whales. i could safely call him my best friend at the time.

but, one day, me and ryan were out in front of his house burning insects with a magnifying glass and paul comes out in his way-too-understated-and-calm-for-a-fourth-grader way telling me that i needed to go home. so, i said, "... umm... o... kay?" and went home. later, i decided to call him and see what exactly happened, only to be told that i should never go to his house again and if it was at all possible, i should avoid him at school. my first questions was "why?" and he answered with silence. my second question was "are you mad at me?" and he answered with, "i don't know..." and i could hear the half-hearted shrug through the reciever. so, i was quickly starting to cry and was confused and everything. but he said he had to go and this was it, bye.

so, i was really upset; this seemed to come out of nowhere. i reacted as if it were a relationship and in my frustration, went and tore him out of any pictures that we were both in together. it was very strange for me. he gave no reason whatsoever and, the more i think about it, this may be a reason that i'm desperate to know the details when someone has broken up with me now... but of course you never really get them.

this whole incident left me alone; ryan decided to still spend most of his time with paul and i would mope about the playground or at home by myself for the next year or so. i saw paul a few times on the bus in high school, but i never talked to him. i never found out why it happened either. it's still a complete mystery to me.

this was the jumping off point in my long spiraling fall of consistent rejections in both friendships and relationships. i could tell many more stories just like this with other people, but this was the first one. i guess this maybe helps explain a little why i'm so paranoid?

i went to the salvation army to donate some things and then went inside to try to find a cheap tape deck for my mom's car. i couldn't find one, but i found a really great jacket for $3.60. it's a polyvinyl blend thing with 100% cotton in the lining. it looks nice. awhile ago, i decided that designers are determined to make men boring, so i started shopping in the women's section of most stores - which is where i found this jacket. i actually wish they wouldn't make clothes so gender specific; it gives me so few options. anyway, the jacket is really great... and it was cheap.

i also picked up a copy of The Idiot for $0.10. i've never read anything by dostoevsky, so i don't even know. but check out the synopsis on the back:

"... Prince Myshkin, the saint-like man whose rare goodness evokes as much mistrust as love in a society more concerned with wealth, power and sexual conquest than the ideals of christianity. Myshkin's disintegration, reinforced by his daily increasing awareness of human misery, is final proof of the inability of man to bear the burden of moral perfection in an imperfect world."

hahahahahahahahaha... hehe hehah hahehahahhehehahah... h... h... he... heh. heh.

in an odd turn of events, my mother had digital cable installed. 'installed' seems like the wrong word... more like it was turned on. there are supposedly 500+ channels, but as i flip through i keep getting the sneaking suspicion that they're tricking us. when my mom mentioned that we would be getting it, i wasn't excited at all. first, because i hopefully won't be staying here much longer and second, i hardly watch tv at all.

but, now it's here and i seem to have been watching a strange amount of the Style Network, IFC and MuchMusic USA with occasional forays into the Real World on MTV. unfortunately, my mother doesn't like anything i watch, like ever. it's a rule maybe?

IFC has a show which had me literally entranced. it's apparently called Dinner For Five and it's apparently created by Jon Favreau and it apparently gathers five non-sucky and pretty intelligent filmakers/actors/writers to a live dinner... for five... and they talk about things and have amazingly interesting conversations that make me want to create films so incredibly bad. or something.

i wonder if we speak out loud enough that it would warrant us writing with so many exclamation marks. though, writing does seem more of an inner dialogue and completely seperate from an audible dialogue. so, i guess it could be justified; our inner persons are most certainly not who we represent ourselves to be. i think. or something. also, i think that it could be easier to be exciting and likeable inside one's head - without all the excess baggage (i.e. a body with vanity).

or, also, not? when you're far away from everyone, you become exclusively the inner person through letters and even phone conversations. the inner dialogue is often unabridged and, when written on a page, definitely more permanent. something spoken can be forgiven more easily than something written.

well, this is different for everyone, i think. the situation is reversed depending on the person and the written can be where structure is and what's said is where chaos is. generally, i think what i write is chaotic; i often write without logic but with some sort of emotion. it's misleading to say that my writing is more honest than what i say, because it's not true. it's more emotional, probably and i'm not so sure emotion can be attributed to honesty at all... or at least logical honesty? it extracts what i'd like in a perfect world, but not what i think is always best.

i also think it can be easy for me to be misunderstood... but, i can't blame anyone for that - i hardly understand anyway.

i saw my first girlfriend again today. she's working at kinkos - the same place she was working exactly a year ago. she didn't see me this time. last year, when we had the prerequisite "what are you doing?" exchange, she told me that she was getting married or had already been married; i forget which. i said, "oh..." with the inflection between the 'o' and the 'h' and trailing off appropriately on the elipse so as to make my feelings toward it very ambiguous... because they were. i mean, who am i to say that her getting married at 19 was weird and a bit frightening? who am i at all?

anyway, i'm starting to like the hustle and bustle of kinkos. i mean, i would were it not for the money that must be spent to do the things i've been doing. it's ridiculous, really. i should pull up my trousers, wipe my nose and just stiff those kinkos bastards. i want free copies, goddamnit.

(my mother just popped her head through her bedroom door, scolding me for being awake. it seems as though my being awake keeps her awake. it's distressing, really, because she gets very angry about it all and i feel pressured to go to sleep - which, of course, means that i can't sleep at all.)

anyway, back to the goddamn free copies. i don't mean to toot my own metaphorical horn (wow, it would be great if i had a little horn - a bugle would be swell) but the things i've made on my project ventures at kinkos have been pretty damn great. i'm so completely satisfied with them. i want to make more, but it involves color copies ($1.29 ea.) and i just don't have that kind of money. so, i really need to learn some guerilla punk rock tactics to accomplish these things.

projects are exciting, yes they are. if you people send me an accumulative total of about $500 a month and teach me the necessary criminal copying skills, i can make great pretty beautiful books and music and things every month and send them to you all. idealism go.

amina lawel of nigeria is sentenced to be stoned to death for having a baby out of wedlock. this violates international human rights agreements that nigeria signed... but that's not even important. it violates so many basic human rights that everyone should have.

you should like... do something. a good start would be to sign this petition, but a better one would be to send a letter (addresses at the bottom of the page) or to sign the nigerian government messageboard at least.

addendum: writing letters is easy, really.

this seems to be a news story of the moment, apparently. not to overwhelm you or anything, but going to amnesty can set you on a path to helping other people.

honestly, i've sort of shyly read sites like these for some time, but i seemed to feel humbled and embarrased today when i realized that i never talked about any of it. it can all be overwhelming at first, i think... but it's all really just a simple matter of saying, "hey, that's wrong" and doing something about it (or, hey, it would be easier if you asked yourself if you would want someone to do these things to you). small things are bigger than you think.

i really need to get out of this town and i really need to find a place to go. right now the plan is for seattle, but it's such a vague plan. what can i say when people ask, "why seattle?" but, "it... seems nice?"

maybe i'm just covered in idealism. all sticky and wet.

the word 'hopeless' resonates with me constantly and it's no joke. each day has me becoming less and less of a human being. my conversations are mutants and retardations of real ones. i write letters without knowing what i'm saying; just to write and get a response. but there are mailboxes in this world that hardly ever get mail. there are comments tailor made for a response to things i have said, but they aren't for me. they're only about me. sometimes i get the feeling that i haven't heard about the things i've done wrong. sometimes i wonder if what i say is taken out of context and i realize how easy it would be to do this - i'm out of context.

sometimes i'm angry. i've lived my life to subdue my anger or transpose it... and it continues to work. i transpose it to the closest thing - myself. if you knew how much physical pain i feel everyday, you would think i was dying. but it's not even fair to say that i'm dying because i've already died hundreds of times. i hate this analogy the most. but, it's the easiest and closest. i don't even remember who i was three months ago. i honestly don't remember.

i heard some prose from a writer (i forget his name as i forget most names) about himself and about a bird, read aloud from a book by a few students who had been fawning over it as if it would offer it's thanks. they sat silenced afterwards, in awe of the apparent brilliant display of sheer emotion and accuracy. but it was heart-wrenching. this guy knew how to be sad. he'd really accomplished something, hadn't he? he was the saddest man in literature; obviously a genius.

sarcasm is amazingly easy, because it is often a mixture of anger and humor. these two emotions, i hypothesize, must bond together to create a smirk. or in some cases: a smug quick breath through the nose, indicating a fraction of a full laugh. whatever the case, it lets us vent while also displaying a somewhat playful side, calming us. because we live in constant fear of being disliked. anger, sadness and depression are certainly unlikeable or at least frowned upon (ha?). unless you are, of course, a literary genius. but then, people will only sit in awe of you if a) they could not know you personally, or b) you are dead. you will still be frowned upon if you are tangible and continuing to exist on a day to day basis.

with all of that said, i should go to sleep soon so i can be awakened from the couch at dawn and sent to the garage where i will sleep on two foam pads and an army issue sleeping bag. i wish i were joking.

d... dude. the word of the day today is triskaidekaphobia - which is apparently a morbid fear of the number 13 or of friday the 13th. jesus. marian told me that the word of the day for my birthday was xenophobia, but i don't think it applied to me at all, really. i seem to get along with people from other countries better than i do with people from my own.

past words from my birthday have been: cajole, convivial and specious. i think cajole secretly applies to me, convivial doesn't apply to me at all right now and specious applies to everything that's happening to me right now. actually, specious is my new favorite word.

today has been a dry day with a walk downtown and with idiocy (the part of idiocy was played be me).

so, i guess today has been a day of contrived heartfelt television. last night my mom watched some military themed show that i can only describe as american propaganda.

i think 3,000 people dying is obviously horrible, but it certainly doesn't make me want "justice" or feel pride for my country. it only reminds me of the horrible things america has done. a movie was just made with mel gibson that retold a story of some 1,500+ vietnamese being slaughtered in the first land based battle in vietnam. people still don't see why this was completely fucked up. it was their home. america invaded it. all because of communism - which most americans don't even understand. or how about hiroshima? and all this "intervention" in iran and kosovo and palistine? it bothers me how america thinks it's above it all.

pride can be a very dangerous thing, i think. most often, it seems to breed ignorance and false assumptions and unjustified fear.

it seems like we're all just looking for a cause to fight for... something giving us a reason to rise up and be against everyone else.

*sigh*

my birthday was typically mundane. my mother woke me up and told me to go sleep in the garage at about 7 am. i slept there until 1. when i woke up and came back inside, the house was empty. my mother came back later and had gotten me a black box (for... putting things in... i guess?) for my birthday. she then asked me to go with her to pier one for whatever reason. while we were there, she told me to look around and seemed kind of upset when she saw that i had found a small chair in a corner to sit in. what was i supposed to be looking around at? i don't have the home or room that would be neccesary for holding anything bought from pier one.

the rest of the day was spent doing nothing, as usual.

oh yeah, mal drew a picture for me. thank you mal. <3

mally called and we had a seemingly strained conversation. i can only guess that i was the one causing the strain as i don't even know how to speak to anyone on the phone anymore - i sat and tried to make jokes that made no sense or couldn't speak above a whisper. i keep trying my hardest to be happy when i talk to people, but i just end up sounding like an idiot because i can't even fathom what being happy would sound like at all. i'm not charming or funny or anything anymore. i'm just a dull sad boy and i think it's starting to annoy everyone.

but anyway, i'm glad she called. i appreciate it. <3

also, i at least saw something exciting today, even if it was something i made up entirely in my head, but: i drove past this pet shop on mooney and there was a giant sign that said "CHIHUAHUAS HERE NOW" and i seriously wanted to head up to san francisco, take a seat next to all the market street preachers and make a sign that said, "MAKE YOUR PEACE! REPENT! CHIHUAHUAS HERE NOW!"

it seems like every year i keep thinking that my brithday should be some sort of climax or even a celebration of the year passed, but it's always painfully mundane or even worse than most other days. but the day always comes and i'm always in the same place. i've been away from this town twice on my birthday in my whole life and both of those were in burbank and both were the best birthdays i've ever had (the dukes of hazards birthday cake may be at the same level, but it was so long ago i only really remember the cake and not the day). i've learned not to expect things and to even have a general and secret loathing for people who expect for everyone to treat them like gods on their birthdays because mine always seem to pass with a whimper.

i don't think i've asked for anything on my birthday for the past 10 or so years and if i have it's been some idealistic wish and not even a practical money bought gift. it's good that i haven't asked for anything because i generally don't get anything at all. not even for the burbank birthdays (to be fair, my drinks were payed for - though i payed for the room at the radisson that everyone so cheerily trashed). the best thing i can remember getting on my birthday was a hand made necklace a year ago (which was broken and is sadly lost in the fabric of space and time).

but all of this has consistently made me a bitter old man, cursing the days up and down... and it's been like this since i can remember. i dread my birthdays for so many reasons. i'm cursed, i must be. i'm most certainly getting old and senile. listen to the song i just recorded; me babbling bitterly. something about me being diluted (it's such a vague metaphor about me being weak, i suppose) and the elementary school crying about how no one likes me for who i am. i'm somehow caught in the middle of it all, 23 years old and trying to mediate between my 10 and 80 year old jacobs.

i'm not sure what will happen on this birthday (started roughly an hour ago pacific standard time) but i hope that it's magic. literally magic. i want to see sparkles on my forehead as i slowly wake up on a cloud whisking me away to some distant place where people love me and they want everything that i have to offer and it's all more than enough. i want huge feasts with beautifuly prepared food. i want to finally fucking laugh again. and i want this birthday to last 50-60 years. maybe more.

i have a feeling it won't be a climax. i have a feeling it will be where the hill meets the bottom of the ocean. because, i've apparently already been to the top and i'm getting close to the only place left to go afterwards. it was a goddamn foothill.

happy birthday anyway.

i'm babysitting a hyperactive midget dog, eating cereal and agonizing over the state of people and how self-serving they all are. i guess i lose the game of life.

i did new vocals for the muzzle cover, so don't download the other one. i also made a demo of a new song. i'll upload them both and link them here later tonight. i guess.

update:
- muzzle with new vocals
- the case of the hopeless

i did... like... two covers today. radiohead's motion picture soundtrack and smashing pumpkin's muzzle.

i feel like doing a cover of motion picture soundtrack should be an annual thing for me. i actually used the right chords this time... i mean, the chords i found on the internet. but it sounds better than my previous versions i think. and i actually sort of hit those notes.

and with muzzle... i'd been singing it all afternoon before i recorded it and my voice wears out pretty easily (are there like... things i can do for this?), so i did a quiet version. you can tell how raspy my voice is. i also missed a few notes because my vocals chords were strained... i guess. the drums are all improvised and layered from my keyboard, so they're not perfect. but, this version is nice and laid back. or something. it has a... charm? i... like it?

oh yeah, please don't stream these. that would be bad.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

also, i just kind of realized that my album sucks. i can't sing and my lyrics are very pretentious/cheesy. i'm sorry to everyone that ordered one. i'll try to make up for the horribleness with other things (by sending other things with the cd, i meant, of course).

i'm eating cottage cheese. i've never been a big fan of cottage cheese, but it always seems as i get older i just give in to different foods. it's not really that bad. it seems good actually. i just can't eat too much of it. i'm eating berkeley farms brand which seems to be nice. it doesn't contain the growth hormone rBST, but it could very well contain other growth hormones. i'm not sure.

well, i was just reminded that fall will be coming soon and suddenly realized what that would mean; walking endlessly down unfamiliar black and cleansed streets staring into space and sitting alone in the rain. i haven't done this for so long, but i've been put into a position where this will be a regular staple in both the fabric of my solitude and stubborness. rain is beautiful and tragic all at the same time. dark and cloudy skies and dirt that is loosened from the gravel leaving that smell in the air. the one that can't be identified; is it clean or is it dirty?

i sort of miss fall this way, but i'm also kind of dreading it because for me it's always a very strict and sigh-worthy solitude. i might be in seattle when it comes, and apparently it will come over and over again. my eyes are constantly hardened into a wide state and my mouth is not quite opened but left loose just in case something might come out. it's hard to tell if i cry at all in the rain and i honestly never know - but the air presses down on my chest from the outside and my throat tenses leading me to believe that i probably do cry.

i don't know what it is, but it's always the biggest reminder that i'm alone. probably because the streets are consistently empty when the rain starts and i'm usually the only one left. it's a very confusing time of year for me. i love it but it makes me lonely. love and loneliness. this year it should be especially harsh. i'm guessing.