My father is crazy. It's 2:30 AM, and he's outside replacing some part in his truck.

I certainly have been neglecting this thing. Which is bad. Because it symbolizes two things: both the fact that I don't have any time anymore, and that, well, I'm neglecting this thing. And this thing is really fucking cool.

So, following are a bunch of updates I've scribbled into my little notebook over the past two or three days. This one's from Tuesday:

Tired today. But not depressed. Just a tiredness, didn't get enough sleep, that sort of thing. Working on my poem for English in Algebra now.

(doodle of a sleepy-eyed, ponytailed stick figure with glasses and messenger bag)

Got an 81 on the test. Flaming FRAULEINS, Mrs.Jenkins is loud. She'll start out talking about due dates, or test grades, or something, and lead up to her main point with this very agitating crescendo of beefwoman* screeching. RAR. But of course, x=duck. And x squared is a lot of ducks. Or a duck in a box. A square box. JABUS I'm tired. It's hot in here. So hot I'm sweating Bastards! Stop talking, you MEDDLING MATHEMATICAL MERETRIX! I want to write my POEM.

And from yesterday, being less delirious since I got eight hours of sleep:

Beautiful day. Especially as far as school days go. I finally got to bed on time last night, so my composure today is far above wraith status. Ich bin sehr munter. Ich bin auch glücklich und zufrieden. What a silly sentence that is in German. But it does, after all, get the point across.

Pictures were today, in English; bullshit in history; lab in physics. All worthwhile, considering that Larkin was in my lunch period today. Ah, how she gets me through the day! So nice to have mein schatz to suffer through all of this with. Labor day weekend soon. We'll go to the zoo and eat sushi and have a gay olde time. Because I already need a holiday. School has been dragging me down the past couple days.

But I recover, slowly. I don't really have anything to be sad about, now that I think about it. Sure, I've got homework and chores to do. Big fucking deal. I'm loved by a brilliant young maiden, and I can sing. Which reminds me, I need to learn the chamber song.

So we're in German now. Doing this whole German thing. This and my next period are the nicest of the day. Nice. Nett. Ist nett. Das is nett. Deutsch und choir ist nett. I've also got region rehearsal today, which I am looking forward to. I want to speed this year up and make region faster. I know I can. And will. And I'll make chamber too.

(and then, with little music notes etched around everything)

Lullaby of Birdland, that's what I always hear... when you sigh

Never in my wordland, could I reveal... in a phrase how I feel!
----
...He marched with spear in hand!

Go blow that ramhorn, Joshua cried!

Cause the battle am in my hand!

So yeah, I write a lot of shit in that little notebook. Today was an allright day as well. Not quite beautiful as the other one, as I often say, since Larkin was gone for a Rice interview, and encountered some family problems, but classes were allright. Tolerable, besides the useless garbage we're forced to swallow in history, physics, and algebra. I'm in a decent mood. Making techno music with Dance eJay 5. It's fucking AWESOME. I'll post my latest song up on my 50megs site for download later.

I must repaint my nails black. It's really grown on me, and now, looking at my nails after nail polish remover is applied, I'm quite bored with my hands. Alas, I'm never satisfied. Cracking the bones in them, accumulating bone spurs over time, and staring at old scars, attempting to remember how they came into existence just isn't enough for me anymore. Now I need nail polish. We're all so sickeningly... human.

And speaking of being human, this guy in choir was somehow freaked out at the idea of me being a Satanist. I think I'll start wearing black robes and upside-down crosses around him. Muahhahaaha...

Hello, everyone. My school year is kicking ass so far. I'm happy. I've actually got hellish loads of work to do, but I'm happy. I've got someone to motivate me, and moreover, do some work with. German and choir are good. My favorite classes so far, I believe. Even US History with Mr.Turks isn't too bad, it seems, since the guy likes me a lot, and he at least makes the class somewhat interesting- as far as US history goes.

I don't have much time for a huge essay on my day tonight. Basically, school, was nice, shitty dentist appointment, but saw Larkin and became hysterically happy by hanging out with her. I will, however, put a few things I've noticed people at school saying about me:

Mrs.Jenkins: You will be CRUCIFIED if you do not study.

Mrs.Ishee: What's wrong with his hair?

Mr.Denmark: Use Just for Men~

Mrs.Pasche: I had a tree that turned brown once. I just spraypainted it green. That's all dye's made out of.

Naschelle Taylor: What's with the hair, buddy? Swim in a pool of Kool-Aid or something?

Random fucker: What the fuck is up with that kid? (note: wearing an EAT SLEEP BREATH* KLEIN FOOTBALL shirt from last year- I find that typo fucking hilarious)

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL! Man, that damn counselors' lotto that determines our schedules sucks. A lot. Well, I got a mediocre situation. First period is English with Rob and Sterling. Second I've got US History with a bunch of fucking idiots and a bastard of a coach teaching us. Third, I've got physics, and I can at least talk to Celeste in there. The teacher's okay.

But fuckdoodles! 4a lunch! I don't get to sit with Larkin... yet. She's dropping psychology, so once her schedule's completely rearranged, she should be in my lunch period. It will make the day tolerable. Most tolerable indeed.

So fourth, I've got German. The teacher, Mr.Kidd, kicks some ass. He's that guy that owns the big Volkswagen van with the graffiti on it. He's so cool! All with the German speaking and the no paperwork and no first day homework, and all that good shit. He just talked to us today, and gave us our German names. JOHANN GRAY HEIDELMEIER!

Fifth is choir. And damn, is it nice. It's not nearly as loud and obnoxious as it used to be, mainly because my junior class fucking pwnz it, and it's not composed of 115 people. Mary and Julia and Sterling and Kathy and peeeeeeeeople! Adam Santley's back though. Fucker.

And lastly, I've got a nice, shitty Algebra 2 with Mrs.Whatsherface, who's got big arms and is really loud. I don't know anyone in there- wait- I know Adam Pope and Nicole FuckToddoverberg.

Ah, sigh. What a huge amount of work I have ahead of me. But, meh. I want to do it. I'm not going to be some slacker anymore. If I fail something, it's going to be of my own sheer stupidity, not my laziness. And I've got 75 dollars from mowing lawns. I'm buying Larkin some sushi.

Back to school, looks like. I can't fucking wait to find out what my schedule is. If they don't put Larkin and I in at least the same lunch period, I'm going to set one, no, two people on fire. I hope we've got physics together too. This year is going to kick ASS. Going to learn German, going to be in classes with smart people, going to get some work done for once, going to hang out with Larkin and go to all the school dances- fucking YES! I'm 16, officially, in six days too. Maybe I should finally read over that driver's ed packet and get my license.

Holy shit! Larkin planned a surprise birthday party for me. Yesterday, it turns out, all my friends had showed up a bit earlier, awaiting Larkin and I. A birthday party. For me. I haven't had one of those in years! Since Kevin Young lived here! No one's ever done something so nice for me. I can't believe it. I've got friends. I'm loved! This is all I ever wanted. Someone to cuddle with and friendly people to celebrate my birthday with. Thank you, everyone!

And today, I made 55 bucks mowing eight lawns. With plenty of energy to spare. I actually feel pretty good. I even feel like staying up a bit later, and it's like, 1:30 or some shit. Amazing. If I've got time on Monday, I can do the Mallory's yard too, and get 20 bucks more. Kickass!

Fuck you, Kleinforums.

Glorious day! Today consisted of the first step in Friday's party preparation, and a nice shopping trip. First, we ran off to Kohls to use some soon-to-expire gift certificates. Turns out we had about $70 worth of them, so Larkin generously bought me two nice pairs of pants that were on sale, and a new outfit for herself. Nice. Next, at the dollar store, we stocked up on glowsticks, and I purchased myself an "imported" TOPO CHICO carbonated strawberry beverage for, well, you guessed it- a dollar. Sort of a bitch to open though, me not having a bottle opener.

Despite harsh lectures from my mother on money-saving and how all shampoos are the same, I finally managed to swindle the amount of money usually spent on hair care products in our grocery shopping away, so the CVS/pharmacy was our next stop. Meh. I just want to take decent care of my hair, because it's like, fucking cool, and stuff. It's all long, and sort of blue still, and I mustn't let all the dye turn it to crackly wire. It would be quite a shame. So I bought some decent herbal shampoo and conditioner, and some hair gel so it won't flap around in the wind and get blue dye in my pupils anymore. Glee!

AZN MARKET! My favorite store. I was low on spendable cash by this point in time, so I was unable to buy the cooked, salted duck eggs, but I purchased several packages of snack food, such as: squid chips (positively delectable), rice candy (the wrapper is edible!), some ginger candy (spiiicy, and it's supposed to dissolve to make tea, but that's not a good idea), and some Japanese bubblegum. All for, like, three bucks! Great place. Next time, I'm getting those god damned duck eggs. And some instant jellyfish. If it's good enough to mass produce...

And so, after some quick grocery shopping at a market designed for normal, fat, white people (Kroger), Larkin and I headed to her place, and she cooked me a nice red snapper dinner. God damn! I'm lucky. I date a girl who can do a kickass job of preparing a meal more complex than a grilled cheese sandwich.

Back at my place, we ate some cookies, made some techno music, exchanged back rubs, etc. etc. At 11:30 or so, Sterling strolled over to my place and rung the doorbell, waking Larkin and I up from our nap. We followed him over to his anti-zoning ordinance-style driveway to watch a small bonfire containing some worship music and Disney movies. Huzzah! Of course, the resulting miasma of magnetic tape smoke eminating from this white-hot blaze began to give Larkin an asthma attack, and it was getting late anyway, so I sent her home with her shoes and an albuterol inhaler. Hey, it makes you jittery as hell, but it beats choking in a turn lane with your lights off.

Pants and food and new shampoo!

Dallas!

The community of old Baptists hath taken a bite of my sleeping habits, chewed it up, and subjected it to an acidic sermon and wedding anniversary reception. I'm pretty fucking tired. Larkin and I got back just yesterday at midnight or so (we had to drive at night so I wouldn't miss the region workshop today). So, here's what happened.

Friday morning, I woke up too early for the first time, threw some shit into my spiffy messenger bag, waited for mom to correspond with several family members, and picked up Larkin. We were off like a herd of constipated turtles. That truck is as old as me, and pulled a big brown trailer full of watermelons and a barbecue grill. Despite a nasty infection which troubled Larkin on the way excrutiatingly, she clenched her jaw, determined not to drag us down, and rode the entire way with my parents and I to DeSoto, Texas, the town in which my grandparents' tiny, one-story house exists. Tough chick, she is, waiting for her medication to kick in during a five-hour drive. Ah, it wasn't too bad. Some LETRES and origami lessons on the way distracted her from the pain and me from my worrying. All is well now, of course.

During the remainder of Friday, and Saturday, we entertained ourselves mostly by sketching strange landscapes (BANANA KING OVERTHROWN!), reading, or hiking around the newly-developed suburbia in the area. That was a hell of a lot of fun. We stepped around waste from construction, picking up pieces of slate and limestone to examine color and composition, and saw some neat scenery that would've made some kickass artsy photography, had we our cameras with us. About five hours of walking around, total, on Saturday. Joining us after our water break was Josh, a distant cousin of mine. Despite his general lack of, well, intelligence (and good jokes), he served as nice quiet company for the both of us during our expedition. We all found some ducklings and tossed bread at them. A Muscovy chomped my finger. Quack.

Arg. Sunday morning brought the church service. Most of you realize I'm not one for church services. Of any kind. At all. FUCK JESUS. But anyhow, it at least served as a nice reinforcement to all my philosophies and systems of, well, nonbelief. I didn't really grasp a single thing out of it. Granted, the pastor was a great orator, but preaching is like the special olympics- even if your the best at it, you're still retarded. "David fell to his knees and prayed, 'O God, teach me to take this thorn out of my flesh!'" Mother fucking reliance on divine authority. Take the thorn out of your own fucking foot, Sherlock. If you have a crisis, you can get a lot more done by, well, fucking DOING SOMETHING than dropping to your knees, lazily asking your divine daddy. Ah well. If I talked about all the concepts discussed in that sermon here, I'd get one of those big post errors. The point is, I hate ridiculous, strife-causing doctrines that make you feel guilty for having fun, and I hate hymns sung off an overhead. Heh. DivorceCare, Thursday night! Martial arts classes, Friday night!

It was an allright trip. Larkin's presence made the entire thing so much more than tolerable. I thank her endlessly for joining me. My grandparents were really stressed out from all the relatives bugging them. At least they got some attention at their reception. What a mess.

Ah, scratch that shit. It was a great trip. Anything I do with Larkin is really nice. I wasn't away for her for more than half an hour for three days. My parents even put us in the same hotel room! Thank Jesus H. Monkeymeat! Not only is she a very good roommate, but my parents snore like lawnmowers, and we had the dog with us, so he probably would've thrown up on my bedsheets.

Off to Dallas. Off to Dallas with Larky and mein parents. Back Monday.

TECHNO MUZAK

bom bom bom bombombombombombomBOM tikatikatikatika wheeoooooookashaaaaa baBUMBUMBUMBUMBUMBUM baquawbawquawbow dee dee, deediddeetdeedeedeedeediddeetdedepweeeeoooooooooooooaaaaaaawwwwwwwnnnnnniiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeyoooooooo BUM BUM BUM BUM

Take my fucking survey!

What do you really think of me?

I saw a newspaper article a minute ago that showed a U.S. soldier in Iraq. He was holding an M16 in one hand, and talking to his family with a cell phone in the other.

"It's one of the signs of modern war."

Modern war. What nonsensical human cockfighting bullshit. Oh, cute. We've revolutionized throwing rocks and clubbing each other. Now the rocks explode, and some of them are made of lead. The clubs are combat knives and ten-inch bayonets. We've been beating the shit out of each other out of greed, lust for power, and RELIGIOUS DISPUTES for millenia. There's nothing modern about war! The only thing modern are the toys used to kill people. Sometimes we drop big, ten megaton toys on Arabs' apartments by accident. Whoops, there goes 45 years of an individual's life. I guess I pushed the wrong button.

War is retarded in that it is so damn human. And you'll say, reading my blog, that I'm supposed to acknowledge the fact that I'm a human animal. But Satanism doesn't condone war. Why the hell can't we just shut the fuck up with our petty human issues and look at the bigger picture? If we don't stop polluting our own atmosphere by making bombs and ignorantly using them, we'll all just suffocate or contract horrible lung diseases anyway, and then there won't be a need for war. Shit, people won't be able to catch their breath to run into some firefight. If we don't quit fighting this "struggle of good and evil" (mother fucking George Bush), it's going to highten into some big nuclear war, and the extinction of mankind will be imminent. I'm fucking serious. I hate America. I hate it so damn much, and I hate the fact that I'm technically a legal citizen of this place, and its schools make me respect its flag. Bastards. Larkin, let's go to Iceland.

Whoops, I forgot to update. But it must be quick; my mother desires my prescence downstairs for cookie-making.

Yesterday, despite an unfortunate bout of heat exhaustion Larkin had, we went out in search of Phil's house, in that hellish construction yard that is Memorial Northwest. About an hour and a half and we finally got around all the one-way streets, bulldozers, and giant tiger traps to Phil's place, for a quick swim and visit with, well, almost nobody I've ever met before. But Phil and Julia were there. I had a nice time, but as previous updates show, I am no fan of the ever popular Halo, and had seen two out of three movies being shown, so Larkin and I made a graceful exit before I had to see another Capture the Flag match. Thank you dear, for chauffering me around in the Houston sun.

After a rest at my place (Larkin had become a little dizzy and still wasn't sweating), the two of us decided to go back to her house to teach me to play DDR. Despite the good idea, I'm not terribly coordinated, and upon Larkin's request on the location of the dance pads, a somewhat ridiculous sisterly brawl took place. I would've sat it out in the kitchen (I was having fun cleaning the stove and whatnot), but when one hears his girlfriend getting hit, he really can't sit around. I could've extracted the hostility from the air and cooked with it. Ah, hellfires. I was up late thinking about it. I don't get mad at anyone from this sort of thing, but I can't take sides in silly arguments like this. Stupid technicalities are just flung back and forth. "Open palm is not a punch, love." I'm terribly sorry, but a person who's just struck her own sister should NOT BE FUCKING TECHNICAL. Anyhow, it's not worth brooding over. I'd prefer to forget the whole thing, and besides, when I consider what a wonderful creature Larkin is, if all I have to deal with to be with her is a silly family feud once in awhile, I'll never meet a more low-maintenance girl.

So, right! I need to go make cookies!

Bashing Mechanics With Freon Canisters

Ahoy! The air conditioning in Larkin's van hasn't worked for years. In Texas, it's a bit of a bitch- stuck in the middle of an intersection (or a train track) on 1960 with the windows open and no cool air blowing at you is certainly an agitating experience. Until now, the subject of repair has been undiscussed- Larkin's father, not wanting to spend money to save a few passengers from heat stroke, claims that such a surgery under the hood of the flaming van will cost a small fortune. Well, my Just For Men-treated, mustached parental friend, a word from one with regulated blood sugar- mechanics like fucking with people. Imagine yourself an employee in an air conditioning shop. A cute little teenager with cat ears, a miniskirt, and a troublesome '93 Ford Aerostar van drives into your shop, asking for an estimate. Upon inspection, you find a tiny crack in a valve and a jammed switch; an operation anyone's housecat could repair. Are you going to replace a rubber O-ring and pop out a plastic knob with a screwdriver for 30 dollars, or try to rip the poor, unaware highschooler off for 1200 smackers for a completely new system? If auto repair were an honest business, it wouldn't make enough money to exist. My dear old dad, who's been relatively involved in the practice for the majority of his LIFETIME, reckons a new valve will fix the thing for five or six hundred. I trust the gray-haired gun enthusiast to steer Larkin in the right direction with the work on that thing.

And so, yesterday was a day of sushi and that movie Dumb & Dumberer. It was actually funny as hell... Upon viewing the previews, I thought it would suck ass. Superb imitation of Jim Carrey, by whoever the hell that was.

And today, Larkin took me out to Left-Handed Monkey and I bought some nylon skater pants. I really like the clothes I'm beginning to collect. I can be whatever subculture I want to be, really. Larkin and I are going to go out on more theme dates. I must say, we looked pretty kickass in all our gothiness yesterday. We got our picture taken at the mall! I cannot wait to see them.

Waiting now for Larkin to get online, so she can come over and show me yoga trickses. Ah, what fun I'm having! This is probably the last summer I'll be both out of summer school and unemployed, and I'm enjoying it so! I wake up at 1 PM every day, go out with Larkin, get lots of exercise, go to parties. It's amazing how she's changed my life, really. I get out every day now, very contrary to my previous lifestyle, that of, well, sitting around with computer games and chatrooms to occupy me! I'm addicted to doing stuff. Especially with her.

School will kick ass this year. I'm going to have so much work, and I'll actually be stressed out with homework for once, but I don't give a shit! I welcome something to be dedicated to! I've slacked off far too long, nearly ruined my grades due to stupid laziness and lack of any initiative whatsoever! I want to be like Larkin, and get some fucking things done. I've got something to work for now. I'll be motivated for once. And I've got something to relax me on the side.

Not only all that, I'll look AWESOME, what with the style Larkin's given me. I'm actually quite addicted to clothing and dressing up...

I Am

Which tarot card are you?

Alas, I am drained. I fell asleep for an hour or so with Larkin at my side, hand in hand. Seems I have an internal clock that'll wake me up when I need to send her home. My, what fun we had today! Rollerblading, and Starbucks, and running around in the backwoods. Ah. Another great day of summer. I instill fear into the hearts of coffee drinkers at Starbucks with my big long coat. I love you, Larkin. I'm going to sleep.

Sweet merciful smallpox-infested baby Jesus. It's 6:30 and I'm at Robert Newman's house, at a LAN party. I should probably sleep on the couch or something, but I'm afraid they'll pour curry in my hair or some shit. I can stay awake. I ate a bunch of ramen.

I'm sitting around in this kickass long black trenchcoat that Larkin bought me as an early birthday present- along with some sunglasses to replace my fucked up one, and a new messenger bag for when school starts. God! She spoils me so! I am dearly in love with Larkin. And not just because she gives great gifts. Can life get any better?

I actually won't mind getting back to school. I'm sort of looking forward to being in classes with people, (hopefully) being in Larkin's lunch, and singing in choir. I really hope I don't miss the damn region workshop. I'll be in Dallas on the tenth or something for my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary. I have to go to church with them. Ugh. I'm sure the fellowship of old baptist people will love me and my blue hair.

Moby - Porcelain

Go and listen to that.

I'm sitting around, waiting for Mr.Morris to come and get me to mow some lawns. He's supposed to need my help today. I want to go and make some money for pushing pieces of metal around. He got a new small mower too, so I imagine the drive on it will work, and it'll be easy as freakin pie. I want to buy one of those trenchcoats at army surplus.

I'm Not Dead

Well, I'm over my illness (save a cold sore on my lip and a few other little annoyances), and I'm out and about again, saving the world. Today, as I passed by a box of rollerblades my mum was selling on Ebay, a wave of nostalgia overtook me, and I wandered over to the hall closet to see if my own pair of skates still existed. Buried under about 200 totebags, umbrellas, and various pairs of boots, I found my pair of rollerblades, complete with size 8 boot and old worn-out wheels! Despite the small size, I fit into them quite snugly, having small feet for my gender and age, and proceeded to glide around the neighborhood for awhile.

Going back to my elementary school on rollerblades certainly brings back memories. Kevin Young, David Muzal and I used to play basketball on skates at the court behind Ehrhardt. Alas, the evil wrecking company bulldozed over a metric ton of my childhood, leaving a huge pile of concrete slab and dirt where once there was a nice, smooth surface for sportsplaying. Why the hell did they do that?

So, coming home, I played a bit of Counterstrike (the most unproductive thing EVER), replaced the wheels on the rollerblades with a set of 30 dollar 80A, 72mm wheels I found lying around, polished my new Schwinn Continental roadbike my parents found at a garage sale (it needs tires, tubes and a brake cable, but soon I will be like Lance fucking Armstrong), and read a bit of my brand new Satanic Bible.

Ah, Satanism. It seems to have always been my doctrine. One of the things Satan represents is Christianity's "seven deadly sins" (ex. lust, greed, pride). And you know why? Because every one of them leads to some form of pleasure! There's nothing wrong with lust! Lust is a religion in itself! What is greed besides wanting more stuff? The flesh isn't going to burn off your bones for eternity just for wanting some money. Being proud of yourself isn't going to invoke some holy wrath from above. Moral codes are bullshit. Ave Satanas! Join my dark grotto, fledgelings...

After another mile or two of rollerblading, I returned home to call Larkin and get myself out to Starbucks. I, the blue-haired khaki master, and Larkin, the cat-eared cutey sporting a new wig took the place (full of stoners and trendy, preppy people) by storm once again. Jeremy, Rob and Amy met up with us too. Much fun.

I feel good now that I'm not feverish and weak. I feel great. I cannot WAIT to fix up my new roadbike. I have long wanted to have something not nearly as cumbersome as a 21-speed mountain bike, complete with big chromali frame and rack. I shall glide across the pavement with the same type of bike as god himself!

Poetry.com has to have the greatest marketing scheme ever. They've sent me, like, five letters saying they want to publish my poetry in some anthology, record it onto CD, give me a big dumb trophy, etc. etc. Oh! And they want me to go to their conference in Washington, D.C.! Only 500.00$ registration! Damn them for trying to make me feel important! It's like that druggie movie where they say the old woman will be on TV! Is there more bullshit than that in anything in the world besides politics and organized religion?

In conclusion: TURTLE!