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.