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Current Music:New Order on in the record store
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Time:11:56 am
Current Mood:workingworking
Those Two

That tree said
I don't like that white car under me,
it smells gasoline
That other tree next to it said
O you're always complaining
you're a neurotic
you can see by the way you're bent over.

-Allan Ginsberg
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Current Music:Thursday -- I Am The Killer
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Subject:space monkeys.
Time:12:28 pm
Current Mood:weirdweird
Whoa, I haven't fucking posted since May. That's pretty stupid. I've been busy, though, getting in papers and scheduling for grad school, getting my shit together.

The band's been busy, too. As in, we finally have a name. Project:Mayhem. No one has this one, fucking finally. Sort of surprising, since it's derived from not only a book but a movie. But nope. No Project Mayhem, except for the Finch song, and I don't think Finch will have a problem with us taking the name.

And if they do, fuck 'em. They're sellouts anyway. Or something. I don't know, I'm making shit up. We sound really good now, though, and Martin's been looking around for gigs. As he is the practical (sort of) one. I opted out on being the mature one this time.

Aside from that I've been hanging with Cel, who's been hanging with the lesbians (and occasionally the artists, but I don't really know them). *laughs* I seriously need to get some other guy friends aside from P:M. I mean, I love the guys, I'd die for them, I'd take a bullet -- but they're my family, you know, I live with them, I know all their stupid habits. And I love Chase and Kit, dude, but...there's only so much lesbionic behavior a man can take.

In other news, there is no other news. I've been working, making money, eating, sleeping, saving money for school. Skating. Writing a shitload. It's going to actually be sort of a pain in the ass to have to change my routine to go to school, and work part-time. I'm going to lose so much fucking money. But I really want to do it. Who knows why? Is this fucked up of me? To do something where I'm essentially tying the band down to the Boston area, and losing money, for...poetry? something where I'll probably be working in the Rotten Recluse the rest of my life?

I've already told P:M that they can get a new bassist if they ever hit it big and want to tour. They've already told me it's not happening. I fucking love those guys.

I'm in a weird mood.
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Current Music:I REALLY need to change this mood theme.
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Time:08:25 pm
Current Mood:amusedamused
So, what's more feminist of me,

holding the door for a girl, or letting her get it herself?

;D


(Honestly, I love women. I am a woman-loving man. But it's a little weird to think that if someone has something in their arms, that it's okay to let her struggle with the door. And yet I get a tight smile and a "I'm okay, thanks." when I attempt to help. I mean, if I was carrying a similarly sized box? I'd totally let you handle it, ms what's your name. But I just think it's polite to get the door since YOU DO NOT HAVE A HAND FREE.

Yeah, yeah. Having dated a raging feminist, you would think I'd know all this stuff by now, but apparently even Celia is not capable of training my slow, defunct mind in the confusing ways of the female.)
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Current Music:WHAT THE HELL?
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Time:11:23 pm
Current Mood:crazycrazy
Dude, two lesbians totally know way too much about me now.

o_O *creeped*

In other news, Martin and Eric have discovered that you can build a device out of straws and Scotch Tape that can launch pieces of paper (or, as Martin assures me, small pieces of food, clothing, etc) at high enough speed to sufficiently injure one's foe....

...if one was very small.

Meanwhile, Tim and Fletcher have made their ideal mates on the BMX game that Fletch just rented and are racing eachother underwater. Apparently Fletcher's "kick-ass hot chick" is kicking the shit out of Tim's, and I quote, "pansy-ass boyfriend."

What the flying fuck, my friends are STRANGE.

I'm being summoned.
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Current Music:someone's blasting hardcore really loud. it must be Fletch.
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Time:08:30 pm
Current Mood:chipperskatery
there is nothing,
(nothing)

like the feeling of
your wheels
hitting

nothing.

that knowledge
-- you are
suspended
somewhere in a
beyond of blue

you wait
hung
hovering
in the arc of your parabola

and concrete
coming
closer
faster
forward
forceful.

There is nothing
(nothing)
like the power
of the pounding
that your body
never knew it could take:

standing up
beyond scrapes
past pain
knowing somehow
you are stronger
than you ever thought.



Um. Yeah. I went blading yesterday.
Also, anyone wanna go out for dinner? I'm at work and I'm starving. And going out for a bite to eat by myself is loserish. So, yeah. Call me or write or something.
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Current Music:I need a new mood set.
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Time:06:17 pm
Current Mood:rushedrushed
Reading Lord Byron, sitting in a recluse of a record shop. (That's my general term for this place, because it sounds good in poetry.)

This guy came in here the other day and tried to mess with me. It was really pathetic. He was fairly working-class in appearance: flannel, beat up jeans, middleaged. He gave me this look that said: "You have a mohawk and piercings, your shoes are new; -- therefore, you must have had the world handed to you on a silver platter." He kept asking me for different bands, totally obscure retro stuff, in this tone that implied that it was a new and different challenge that he expected me to have to look up on the computer.

Well, I didn't, because I know my shit, and I got him his stuff, and he stared me down a little and left, mumbling something about having to get back before shift started.

Whatever, man. You don't know me, you don't know what it's like growing up down the street from a refinery, and you have probably never hauled stuff for a construction company before the age of 21.

So don't look at me like I'm stealing your fucking taxes.

I was going to write something about it (poetry wise, or maybe song) but I've lost it now.

Anyway, nothing really happened this weekend...except that my computer blew up...so now I'm mostly writing in from work. Blarh. Oh, and I saw Chase's show and hung out with my ex and her friends and their friends. I'm weird that way. Hi guys.

Now Eric is telling me I have to GO and HELP HIM, so I guess I will GO and HELP HIM.
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Time:11:09 pm
Current Mood:coldcold
Wow, my journal's really PINK now. Fuck. The other Ash and Fire wasn't this pink.

Haha, now it matches my Tough Guys Wear Pink t-shirt. As well as Fletcher's executioner whatsafucksit t-shirt.
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Current Music:I really need to make this journal look better.
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Subject:RIP, Anathema.
Time:04:33 pm
Current Mood:bitchybitchy
So, we finally agreed today that we have to change our fucking name, because somebody already has it. Not only that, but they actually have it, in the having a domain name of their own and everything, a domain name that isn't anathemadevicerock.com or something.

I'm sure it's actually a good thing that we're figuring this out early in the game, before litigation comes into it, but I feel gypped. (edit: that's a horrible word. don't ever use it.)

Especially when it's a frickin' goth band. "The Best of Gothic Radio". Gothic Radio. It sounds like a radio with rib vaulting and arches. I mean. Come on. They perform at a place called the Batcave. Which would be cool, if Bruce Wayne lived there...

I'm sorry. I shouldn't disparage any kind of music. I should just get over it. But somehow our genuine love for the character in Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett's Good Omens, which admittedly, may be shared by these odd 30+ dudes in eyeliner with better press than we have, seems a little more subtle when you think about the fact that their core audience is undoubtedly thinking, "Ooo, Anathema, doesn't that mean ACCURSED?"

Nevertheless. I am going to get over this slap in the face. Because, well, I have to.

Tim said we should be called "Not From Concentrate". He was drinking orange juice at the time.

It's not quite as striking as "Anathema Device", I don't think...


In other news, I got a scholarship, which means I can actually go to grad school! Whoo hoo.
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[icon] angelheaded hipster
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