Haha, somedays I love other peoples blogs:
"When the Super of your building speaks only Chinese, it's really hard to tell him that the people upstairs have a leaky toliet. (a.k.a. I have a leak and have been catching the urine in my cooking pots.)"

I have been restless of late, and going to class and wandering around residence doesn't seem to be cutting it. And in my thoughts on the source of my revelation, I realized the following:

We live in a box. We leave that box and get into a moving box. We take that moving box to another box where we work. We get back into the moving box to take us back to the box we live in. Depression, obesity, apathy, no one cares any more when all our "needs" are found in a box. In most cities, people are afraid to go out after dark. We have to take the moving box to a park if we want to go camp. It's sick and simple and explains many little woes. We are continually putting - and keeping - ourselves in boxes that define our lives. We have become sheep herded into the pens of our choosing.

I can smell the fading smell
of spring daisy fabric softener
as I bury my face into the
depths of my sheets.
Every second my window is
flying farther from the ground
and I'm falling farther up and
away from everything.
You make me feel trapped
in this tower of cold steel
and memories of regret.
Tears have been flooding the
staircase every time the sun
sets and you know it.
I live a fairytale, a twisted
fairytale where happy ending
is the jester's song and Prince
Charming simply can't handle
climbing this tower for a real girl.
I'm not normal here either.
My life is one twisted, messed
up fairy tale that takes place
in some weird, parallel world.
It's a cross between Heaven,
Hell, and Vegas.

There isn't anything that is particularly wrong and the things that are wrong aren't particularly worse today. But somehow I'm feeling super blah. It must be all that crap blowing up inside of me- the stuff that I can't write or talk about because it actually means something to me. If I share everything, I'll have nothing left for myself. I guess you could say I'm an emotion hoard. I'm like that because if you don't have a lot of something, you have to hoard it or risk losing it completely. Feeling this way makes me hate myself because I have a good life. I like to imagine what it's like to not be me. I used do this when I was driving home at 3 or 4 am. I see a young girl at the bus stop. I want to roll down the window and say to her: Where are you going? Where are you coming from? Who left you here? Did someone hurt you? Why do you look so sad? What are you thinking about, standing there so quietly? Are you lonely? Can you take me to where ever you're going? I'm sure your life is much more interesting than mine. I know you can still feel because I can see it in your eyes and that makes you better off than me.

I want to beg her to take me away because I don't want to be here either.

But I never do. I just drive away and by the next morning her face is just a blur to me. After all, girls standing at the bus stop in the morning are just a dime a dozen in this city. Then again, girls who like to dream away their lives aren't worth much either.

attention holy diver. you've been gone too long in the midnight sea.

96% on my first test in Quatitative Approach to Business II, woohoo!!!!

Threw you the obvious
And you flew with it on your back
A name in your recollection
Down among a million, say:
Difficult enough to feel a little bit
Disappointed, passed over.
When I've looked right through,
To see you naked and oblivious
and you don't see me

Well I threw you the obvious,
Just to see if there's more behind the
Eyes of a fallen angel,
Eyes of a tragedy.

Here I am expecting just a little bit
Too much from the wounded
But I see,
See through it all,
See through,
And see you.

So I threw you the obvious
Do you see what occurs behind the
Eyes of a fallen angel
Eyes of a tragedy

Well, oh well..

Apparently nothing.
Apparently nothing at all.

You don't
You don't
You don't see me
You don't
You don't
You don't see me
You don't
You don't
You don't see me
You don't
You don't
You don't see me at all

A Perfect Circle - 3 Libras

They press their lips against you
And you love the lies they say
I tried so hard to reach you
But you're _falling anyway

There will not ever be anyone like me I am special because I am unique I am stardust and dreams I am light I am love and hope I am hugs and sometimes tears I am the words "I love you" I am swirls of blue, green, red, yellow, purple, orange, and the colors no one can name I am the sky, the sea, the earth I trust yet I fear I hide yet I don’t hold anything back I am free I am me, and me is just right.

What you tell yourself you tell the world.

..[confidence]..

"I am trying to get my life reasonable. I'm not going to ever be happy. Happiness isn't on, because happiness is temporary. Unhappiness is temporary. Ecstasy is temporary. Orgasm is temporary. Everything is temporary. But being reasonable is an approach. And being reasonable with yourself, it's very difficult, very difficult to be reasonable."
-Phil Spector, in an interview four weeks before his arrest on murder charges.

"Weird dancing in all-night computer-banking lobbies. Unauthorized pyrotechnic displays. Land-art, earthworks as bizarre alien artifacts strewn in State Parks. Burglarize houses but instead of stealing, leave Poetic-Terrorist objects. Kidnap someone and make them happy.

Here we are crawling the cracks between walls of church state school & factory, all the paranoid monoliths. Cut off from the tribe by feral nostalgia we tunnel after lost words, imaginary bombs.

The last possible deed is that which defines perception itself, an invisible golden cord that connects us: illegal dancing in the courthouse corridors. If I were to kiss you here they'd call it an act of terrorism - so let's take our pistols to bed & wake up the city at midnight like drunken bandits celebrating with a fusilade, the message of the taste of chaos."

-Hakim Bey