who is adam powers?

Maybe now that I'm tired (am i tired? or is that also an illusion?) I will be more truthful. Or true morer. Or maybe I'll say something of significance, something that doesn't travel around in circles. Maybe I'll shit out something pretty.

I feel...calm.
I feel...cold. Well my hands are frigid, and they're easy to feel because whisps of the air coming from the slightly opened windows rush through my fingers whenever the scurry across the keys. That coldness extends to my wrist--and that whole description is mainly for my right hand. My left is tepid. My legs and feet are petty cold, but that'd be obvious if you could see me in my plaid shorts and plaid flip flops. Is that allowed in the fashion rule book? I like it. According to one of Kennedy's photos, it's called plaiering (plaid layering). I creep on facebooks a lot, because i have nothing better to do--no, that's not it. It's probably because I don't invest enough interest in my own life--wait wait wait, that can't be it, I'm completely vain! Though when i think about it sometimes I can't help but picture myself as a flat human being. I feel sometimes that I've built myself up as a poweful idea, yet that's all that coomprises the idea: there is no actual backing or evidence or traits that the idea is made out of. I think I'm just perceiveing myself how I want to be percieved--or maybe I'm even percieveing myself as I want other people to percieve me. This is probably the most honest perspective of myself, and frankly i'm unimpressed to the point of disgust. No no, that's not true. I pity myself and I'm sad for myself, I'm not detachedly appalled at my wormy, parasitic, flat self. I think I've come to this diecision through literature. It's terribly sad when the complexity of literary characters reveal the simplicity in yourself. And by yourself, we mean myself. Well thank you Zora Neal Hurston and Janie Crawford/Killick/Starks/Cake. (yeah i should be doing my essay now). So now the problem is the solution. How do I build myself up?--No no no, that's not the way to go about it. The goal shouldn't be to be something, in fact, there doesn't need to be a goal. The way to go about it is to ask myself: "what do i like? what do i not like? what do i want to create? how?" i might even ask "why?" and when i can answer those questions i'll know myself. or at least i'll be closer to it. i don't need a complicated prodedure including dramatics and a transformative story and a long ordeal to discover insight into myself. I can go about it in a rational way: by writing a blog during an all nighter when I only have one essay left to do. logical. so...
what do i like?
what do i want to create?
how?
why?

emosigh

just skyped with katie. asked julie to join and she said ew no. old petty trivialities still plague me.

i can't speak well
you'll notice it if you're ever around me
it's so sad not being able to communicate to people you love
--even to people you don't, to people you don't know.
but maybe that's just normal.
i'm listless in every way
all i want to do is listen to sad songs and eat and sleep.
i'm going to eat myself alive.
like a self cannibalizing snake, unhinging my jaw to slurp up the end of my tail.
and everything i write fucking sucks so it's unfulfilling
and nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing
...
i have nothing to say:
the aboriginal sin of adam.

job list

these are not options
these are requirements.

wandering minstrel (/bard)
glass blower
pirate (pi/rate)
marketing manager--'marketeer'
advertising executive
street magician
ice sculptor
assassin
corporate spy (espionager?)
martyr--saint--savior
paid thinker
writer (fiction, most probably. biography maybe too)
artist (medium:life. i'll create it, make it a viable, profitable industry)
poet
photographer
revolutionary
super hero
villain
human--organism
lover? (wishful thinking)
karen walker
kertarist
accordioner
mask maker--masquerade thrower?
club owner/promoter
happy
something in the field of chemistry or genetics. (a punnet squareer!)
09/21/2009
[created during chemistry]
~
[edited, two minutes later]
defense against the dark arts teacher
someone's conscience--anyone's
a father

Let's last forever

i feel like i'm rocking back and forth in a sea of something--this something, of which, i've no idea. the sensation is the point that is supposed to be made; the sensation of hopeless lost desperation with nothing to hold on to: no friend to act as a buoy and no self esteem to stand on.

i wonder how miss delaney keeps in such good contact with her friends from home. i wish i could do that with my friends...i could. i'm just not. and yet i miss them all. julie, katie, rebecca, holly. i miss rachel. i miss my family. i miss the stability of a life back home where everything is promised to us, where everything is easy.

maybe i'm jaded. i feel like i've done it all before. i feel like it'll just end again, all over again, and life will continue.

that's why i'm so worried that i'm losing touch with my friends. i've got nothing stable in my life and i feel i'm just building more relationships to lose touch with.

there has to be something continuous in life. even if things don't naturally last forever--people die, words lose meaning, art loses signifigance--can't, by our own motivation, desire, and device, we make something that lasts forever?

"Let's make this last forever--
and ever
and ever--
let's make this last forever."

my enemy

my battle is a curious one. what i face is the carnal , self-serving, self-destroying, gluttonous, grotesque face of sefishness. i am fighting an onslaught of me's, a sea of self absorbed creatures who claw and bicker for attention, a swarm of icky goblins who pine attention and ignore all else, a gaggle of girls who claw at my table for morsels of notice, beings who greedily choke down every crumb of self recognition that they can squeeze from the minds of others.


My biggest asset and my biggest problem is that I listen--and i'm moderately good at it. And moderately good in a world of talkers is essentially me being a savant at listen. Thus


There are a few flaws in my argument: the fact that this could all be a selfish plead for myself, i don't speak my mind enough, and ...?

indifferent ramble--i'm sick

It's not like I have anything to say
It's just that I don't have time to say it.


Yesterday I received a honesty box message that said i'm julie's puppet and that is sad.
it would sad were it true, but i don't think i am anymore.
we're best friends and that's all i really know.

in the least latest story, i have a new best friend who took me to see weezer and blink 182--erin crandell. we've got the same music and book tastes. well eye knee, as we say down in china.

sam and victoria are awesome people also. we make a great lurk patrol.

as is life