sigh: depressing update #1

Adam: Are you going to the playoffs this weekend? The musical?
Juliet: No.
Adam: Why not?
Juliet: There are some parties this weekend.
Adam: :( would it change your mind to know that i'll be there?
Juliet: Not Really? I want to see you. But i'm not gonna go to Carrolllton and have to stay with my mom and shit.
Adam: Oh okay. That's depressing. Well i guess i may stop by then sometimes saturday. Are you free during the day?
Juliet: Yeah i will be. it's not that i don't want to see you, but you make no effort to communicate with me anymore.
Adam: I understand. It's not like this is the first time this has happened.
Juliet: Okay.
so if you haven't been making effort to communicate with me...?
[/nothinglastsforever]
sigh.

nothinglastsforever?

what is love, if not
forever?

even now, after it all, after all the poison dust has settled
rebecca and i still love each other
to the moon and back

we confirmed that to each other just last weekend

sigh

progress report

There comes a point in every endeavor when one must asses the situation, asking himself: "what tha fuck am i doing?" After a thorough examination of his surroundings and the recombobulation of reality, he realizes he's doing nothing more than taking notes on oxidation and reduction, screwing around online, and listening to people ask the same dumb questions over and over again: "is the oxidizing agent the thing that's oxidized? is reduction surgery good for my health? redoxa floppy wonka toot? shwats chem?" Even after the dust stirred up on the blacktop of cognition settles, there remains an excitement that is homogenous throughout the settled atmosphere, to be inhaled with every distracted sigh. To the curious, this vague, left over energy is pursued further; and questions of intent are formed: "why the fuck am i doing what i am doing?" and depending on goals set and achievements made, there may be cause for a celebratory picnic of wine and cupcakes atop a height that looks over the sunset--and if one's truly achieved--the sunrise. for the sight of such a spectacle, with such a food and such a beverage, could symbolize an important goal in one's purpose in life--as could a variety of other physical things, people, and events, but a sunrise and sunrise have a conracopia of connotations associated with them.

pretentious, overly vague, and potently verbose introductions aside, I believe I've reached a milestone of my own. As a flamboyantly absurd aethstic and demented theorhetical artist, one of my goals in life is to be contribute to the beauty in the world. as an human artist, one of the mediums i strive to perfect is that of life. if you've spoken with me on any sort of basis of my goals and dreams, you'd know some of this. it's a crazy idea, and sounds a bit lazy, but it's an idea i'm carrying it out nonetheless (see instead: irregardless).

my goal is for every movement made, appearance (intentioned and unintentioned), word uttered, and idea thought to follow a cohesive theme. Each time i glide my fingers over a keyboard, curve my wrist, twist a curl between my fingers, stretch my knuckles, rest my right leg on my left, saunter with a mysterious gait,

all in all, i'm obsessed with the branding of myself.

and i have reached a milestone. and that is in personal beauty. i am the most physically beautiful i will be, i've reached my peak--and my peak, from my perspective, is the peak. I am able to twist my view of beauty--i have taken the phrase "beauty is in the eyes of the beholder" to a new level: 'conventional beauty' is a thing for the unenlightened, uninformed, and unthought consumers of media and pop culture--they will be told what to believe, as i will
Thus

I am the most physically beautiful thing this side of the universe

See me now. My curly hair growing in and out every way like a hair conditioned porcupine, like the upturned roots of a brain, planting themselves into the atmosphere to absorb its energies, like a conceptualized universe, an explosion of infinity, the big bang, the beginning and end of all.

All of that, just seen in my hair.

Travel down my head, down the perfectly proportioned jaw line, currently quilled and rough with hairs poking out and point in different directions. Growing out of the skin, into the skin, through the skin, above the skin. The ingrown hairs creating pimples, creating marks, creating red, blending in with the red blush of a scarlet sunrise, suggesting towards a hard, but scholarly nose that seperates two concentrated spiritual deranged chocolate fondue colored eyes, under the overly chapstick covered lips under a hairy nose. And all of this perfect. Even the stubble, even the hairy nose, even the un plucked eyebrows.

it's all about conceit and selfishness and self love. it's all something i don't prefer to induldge in, but only because society discourages such actions: even so, it's apparent from many of my reactions, conversations, and relationships with people. an obsession with the self is difficult to hide. this love, however, does not stop me from loving others. on the contrary, in order to fully create beauty in the world, I need to love other people.


damn, i think about myself too much.