January 20th, 2003
    I remember once when I was 8 my mother was scolding me for pooping my pants because I waited too long, I was having to much fund playing some random game on my Nintendo.  She couldn’t stop laughing, and yet she was trying to scold me at the same time.  It was vary funny, although at the time, I had no peculiar thought of it being anywhere near the house of funny, it seemed far from it, more like the house of hell.
    I remember once, when I was 12, I’d just gotten 50 dollars, and my father said the classic Disney movie saying; ‘don’t spend it all in one place.’ soon after I bought a friends gaming system for 50 dollars.  My dad grabbed be by the arm and walked me all of the way to my friends house.  He stepped up to the door, and demanded that my friend come out.  Jimmy came out with a big smile.  My dad demanded he gives all of the money back, and then he handed him the game system.  Jimmy looked up at my father in utter terror.  Jimmy had just bought a new baseball bat from his cousin, therefore the fifty dollars was unattainable.  My father had no idea what to do, so he scrapped his morals and said ‘what the hell’, handed me the game system, and popped open a bruskey.  I love the summer.
    I remember one summer I got a bubble box, a dumb little box holding all and anything to do with blown bubbles.  So I thought that it’d be brilliant if I pored nearly an entire gallon bucket of soap on the fan, then turn it on!  It’d be the biggest bubble EVER.  I pored the soap on and nothing happened, so I turned on the fan, and it started blowing, and a small extrude of bubbles came from the front of the fan, then the thing started to smoke, it made a deep roaring sound, like a hugmmmmaaa, augmaaaaaa.  Finally it sparked and shut down.  I don’t think my mother ever knew it was I who’d broken her fan!

January 21st, 2003
        Tara walked into a bar, sitting down she looked at the old lady across the room from her.  The old lady had a large feather in her hair, it was like something off of a movie, with her boa, old wrinkles lips, her purse of some Persian leather,  rags and do-dads of all colors and shapes.  Finally after Tara ordered a nice wine glass, she gazed at the woman some more.  The woman was chewing on ice from inside her scotch.  Tara could almost smell the mix of perfume and alcohol wafting around the old woman.  Her face seemed to scrunch up more and more as she stuck in another piece of ice, and sipped her scotch.  The old woman caught gaze, and quickly looked to the door again.  Tara finished her glass of wine and stood up, waltzing to the old woman.  She sat down right next to her, and simply stared eye to eye with the old woman.  The woman froze as Tara examined the woman's eyes.  Then kissed her.  The two old women walked out of the Lesbian bar together.

January 22nd, 2003
    I got back my I-search today.  I-search is an assignment assigned to freshmen, it’s supposed to teach them something, at least I think so anyway.  I got a damned good 95/100.  I was amazed, I  was surly ready to accept an 85/100, so I was amazed when I flipped back and saw the high mark.  I’m getting bored with this subject... on to something a bit more interesting.
    There's a kid in front of me, across the room from me actually, but in front of me non-the less.  He’s sitting is a beige chair because he came in late.  Poor kid is probably pissed off that he doesn’t get a damn desk to write on, instead he has to stare at his crotch while he writes.
    I ‘m confused about beauty.  I’m not going to bring in that beauty is on the outside crap, I’m just saying.  What in the hell is beauty?  Is it full and lushes red lips?  Is it a tan and dark skin?  Or perhaps it isn’t?  How can a model be considered beautiful when I’m not sure what beauty is, nor is anyone else. I watched a documentary that stated they could actually depict beauty.  I  completely and whole heartedly disagree.  I see a woman who I think is beautiful, the next day, I don’t see the same beauty.
    “Isn’t it funny how in a certain light we all look the same?”-Matchbox Twenty.  I think beauty has to do with the light.  It has to do with movements.  It has a whole lot to do with self esteem.  If a woman feels beautiful, and feels confident, it shows, and slowly makes her attractive.  The reason why most people aren't beautiful, is because they don’t feel beautiful.

January 23rd, 2003
    Jars. Your mind is a box of old, rarely used jars.  They store thoughts, emotions, intellect, memory, blah, blah, blah.  So when transferring information, and re-analyzing it, you spill, or mix contents on accident.  Perhaps one minute you are completely knowing of a topic, but one minute, somewhere, the little imps of your mind accidentally break (Or purposely... No health  benefits) you unconsciously forget or loose memory or valued information.  Then there’s the library in your mind.  I remember how to tie a shoe.  Because I repeatedly get those books out, and I repeatedly read them (Tie my shoe) I’ll always remember what the book read.  Now I’m giving an analogy about memory for a reality of memory.
    I want to write about things like poo.  But not spelled like the normal Poo, spelled like pooh.  And not words like me, but something more like meh, with an H at the end.  ‘The’ should also be changed, to Theh.  In-fact, every  word ending with a vowel will now haveh an H at theh end.  It’s ah brilliant ideah.  Maybeh somebodeh (Substituting Y for eh) will peh meh lots of moneh for meh new lenguageh.  I’ll beh ah rich man.
    Now I’m bored.  I don’t want to write  about people  that make me mad, like republicans with their money, or religions with their religiousness.  I definitely don’t wanna write about my problems. Too many people bitch/write about there damn problems.  Why would you do something so bland?  ‘My...’ or ‘This always...’ always localizing things, always making things general and stereotypical.

January 24th, 2003
    Lou Lou, hohum lu lu, what a lue lue do you do?  Wild Mind?  Crazy man, that’s like twelve tigers, without the ford trucks.  That’s like Yaks wearing pontoon boats, who wears pontoon boats?  Mr. Forbort would look good in a pontoon boat.  Do you think I’m spelling pontoon correctly?  Why did I just ask you a question?  Perhaps you can’t even read?  Aren’t those last questions, questions?  Yet this is also a question, isn’t it you illiterate bastard?
    Who in the hell thought up that word?  What makes it such a ‘bad’ word.  Is it the ‘A’ after the ‘B’?  Or perhaps it’s that wretched ‘ard’ that just plain dishonors everyone.  In any case, bastard is not a painful word, I’ve no idea why it would be...

January 25th, 2003
    I think she’s a good girl, someone with morals.  Perhaps maybe too good for her own good.  Or maybe she’s naughty.  She’s got too many secrets to hide.  My mother always used to say that ‘When a girl’s got her hair up, she’s hiding something!’  She’s probably smart, she seems to have direction in her eyes, but that could just be the glasses talking.  She’s probably got money.  She has a drink on her desk every day.  Yesterday it was Chocolate MMMMMMilk.  Today it’s Poweraid.  I sure don’t have enough money to get a drink every day!  On the other hand, it only costs 60 C a day or more to get a drink every day.  I must be imagining things.  A dolor isn’t that much!  Then again, there’s always 10-10-3-2-1!  She’s fashionable, wearing a baby blue sweat shirt.  On the other hand, who wears orange shoelaces?  I think I would.  Am I fashionable?  No.  But I think she is.  Am I being harsh?

January 26th, 2003
    What am I disturbed about?  I’m disturbed about not being able to be disturbed about the not-so disturbing things, and disturbed about the utmost un-disturbing things.  I’m disturbed with people who are at public events.  Does that larger lady at the other end of the food court want to eat me?  Or is she thinking about trees.  And why the hell is she thinking about trees?  Do they like...pleasure her in some ways?  Do they do some wrongful thing to everyone?  Why isn’t she think about world hunger, why is she so unkind!?  Why is she so disturbed when I ask her about all of this?
    I’m also disturbed with the guy across the street.  He’s nice.  Why is he being nice?  He’s got absolutely no reason!  He’s living in a country that is suffering from its own depression, why is he so damn happy!?  Maybe he’s mentally disabled.  He’s so dumb that everything smart just flies right over his head, war with Iraq has no meaning to his fickle little mind.  Disturbing?  Yes.
    What about dogs.  Why in the hell are they wagging their tails?  Are they happy? No.  Why would they be happy when I’m going to put it down if it gets too sick for my budget?  Huh?  So is it wagging its tail to pick up radio waves from television stations?  Is he like watching doggy porn in the back of his brain.

January 27th, 2003
    Ladity lalala, I am sick and tired of these damn parents pissing and moaning about video games with violence.  It says right on the front of the package, by law:  ‘This is a mature title, for information on the ESRB rating system, call...’  How much more blatant can you get?  What bugs the hell out of me is when the parent makes the dumbest arguments when buying mature titles for children ‘He’ll just play it at a friends house‘.  If you don’t have enough control and discipline to keep your child from playing the video game, then you don’t really have a right to worry about your child in that way.  School shootings are not caused by video games, in fact; if I didn’t have an outlet to release anger and stress, I admit that I’d probably be a more violent person.  People that do things and think there is no consequences for their actions have something wrong with themselves, and have no excuse that ‘The game made me think killing people is ok’ because it’s not, and if you don’t get that, what are you doing not under medical help?

January 28th, 2003
    I have power within my hands.  The power of the word.  I can change someone’s mind about a topic, I can enforce a topic even further into someone’s beliefs then they already are.  All with the power of words.  A defined opinion can change the course of history.  One who implements such a masterpiece is no less then a demigod.  Words are a magical force to be reckoned with.  Words influence religions.  Words fuel cults.  Words are what makes Americans one of the most hated countries.  Words push death.  Words save lives.  Words empower warriors to further continue to fight.  Actions are most certainly not stronger then words.  Actions are spent.  Words are not.  Your mind is not accumulative, you have your mind, and words extend from it.  Your mind is not spent with words.  No one ever says ‘He’s good with Actions’.  Words have the power to save friendships, or break them.  Words can solve all problems.
    Words are information, and information is all too powerful.  Novels have been written about the freedom of information in America.  Information isn’t censored.  This isn’t the censoring of sexual or explicit material, it’s the censorship of valuable information.  The government has information that no one but those of the highest authority have access too.  Why is this?  America could be taken hostage with as little as 5% of this information.  If the wrong people were able to learn this information, America would crumble at the base.  Information like this, but not as vital, can be easily shared through the internet, freely.

January 29th, 2003
(Continued)
    When leaving America, you must be given a slight background check.  Someone of a faulty background must register with the government where they’re going.  Why?  Because if the wrong people were to expel information to the wrong group of people, America would lose this information.  The information highway is booming, and it’s not censored from the most dangerous pieces of information.  How much of it is false?  How much of it is illegal?  How much of it is too true?  How much of it is confidential?  The government released a statement saying that at least 1.45% of the governments information was leaked from 1990-2001.  That’s a dangerously large amount.

January 30th, 2003
    I am anti-government.  This in fact, does not make me an anarchist.  I just believe that our economy could be solved with a change in government.  What if our economic government was controlled by a central government, which regulated peoples economic lives.  Each day would consist of a 10 hour work time, each person would be allotted the rest of the day to themselves.  Now, at the age of 10, a person would be specifically assigned a job according to their personal skills and attributes.  This job would be what they’d do for the rest of their lives.  The first ten years of their lives would be to educate them in the general sense, in the highest respect, and also to prepare them for the next step.  Forever after they will work for no money.  They will do their job, and their job only.  No one else will be angry at the simplicity of someone else’s job, will never argue that one has it easier then others.  Their first ten years will teach them the above.  What will keep them from rebelling is a sort of ‘Trade’  all you have to do is one single job, one single occupation, and you’ll get the services of every single other occupation.  All things, not just busing or so forth, but tables, chairs, homes, etc.  Everything is made/given equally, but there is room for personalization.  Houses are made in equal ‘Value’ but in an unlimited amount of personalization.  Every year, the government would appoint 4 people from every service.  These people would build/distribute for the government, and would then become government officials.  These people would build things for trade, thus to regulate money to purchase resources unavailable for work in America.

January 31, 2003
(Continued)
    So why would someone actually want an economic structure such as?  For one, no one would feel poor.  No one would have the stress of money.  People would be able to live the exact lives they want to.  They could further develop their skills in another field, and in fact take up another occupation.  This section of occupation would be materialistic objects.  Paintings, Entertainment, Memorabilia, etc.  would all be something that’s part of this class.  Now the only way you’d be able to receive these extra occupations is if you yourself were involved with them.  You’d be forfeiting 5 hours of the day of your own free time to take part in this extra occupation, but it’d better you because you’d be able to enjoy materialistic objects.
   
February 1st, 2003
Continued
    This economic government would be itself outside of personalities and real life issues.  Laws and freedom would still be something people would have to perfect on their own, but the government side would be better off because they’d have no trouble, no reason to worry about money or people gaining too much power.  Americans could finally live debt free, and it’d be amazing.
    Why wouldn’t this government work?  People would completely misuse the fact that they could do a poor job at what they do.  this is where there’d have to be penalties for those who do not do their work to the fullest abilities.  The government could also misuse their people because they’d be weak minded, and easy to convince into something.  There are multiple reasons why this government has no place, but in a brand new country, one without idealism and images of one for one democracy, one that would be willing to drop all arms to become the ultimate government.

February 2nd, 2003
The Blight Project:
    Young Kaldadine and his kid brother moved closer and closer to the large gates.  'You go in, it was your idea in the first place!'  The younger of the two whined loudly.  'Don't be silly brother, we'll go in together, then, if anything happens, we'll both know, and can run and get help!'  Kaldadine explained to his naive little brother.  'Besides, nothing will happen, I don't believe those wise tales one bit!'  Yet Kaldadine's face was drenched in sweat.  He moved closer to the gate, pushing one of the gates open, he looked around.  At that, came a loud growl from inside the gate.  The two boys slowly backed away, whimpering in high voices.  Then, a giant beast leaped over the gate, screeching in inhumanly screams.  The boys immediately ran, springing over fallen trees, dodging boulders and the likes, using their fast little legs as well as they could.  With all their effort they still could not outrun the terrible beast.  The creature leaped onto Kaldadine, ripping his throat from his neck, licking the sweet nectar pouring from the neck of Kaldadine.  The creature was too busy in his new found dinner to notice the boy standing there, looking in shock as his older brother was devoured by this hungry beast.  At that, the boy ran, and ran, and ran until he got back to town.  He told his story, and no one believed the young boy, but they never did find the body of Kaldadine Urgoshi...

February  3rdst, 2003
The Blight Project:
    I remember it like it was yesterday - oh the horrid day... Just as I'd gotten over the ridge, the travelers walked into the clearing. One of them wore a long black traveling cloak, it hid every feature of him, but by the way he moved, with his large darkwood staff towering over him, taking on his full body weight, I could tell he was old, very old. He was speaking to a younger man, who wore a breastplate, and a large helm cradled in his left arm. The younger man looked afraid of the older one. The older man spoke to the younger; 'Akuma, you're loosing your thoughts to the woman. You must forget her, and focus on the tasks at hand.' The old man seemed annoyed with the young one. 'I am sorry my Lord, I don't know what I was think-' the young man held up his hand, looking around as if he'd heard something. I hadn't noticed, but my leg had slipped, hitting a tree branch. I jumped to my feet, but it was too late. The dark cloaked man already had his hand around my throat; it felt as if he almost was drawing life from me! Oh, how I escaped, I truly do not know, but all I know is that the man haunts my life today, oohh, he always will haunt my...

February 4th, 2003
The Blight Project
    Hunerd Limure entered the great hall, the noble paladin, a holder of justice, sent to defeat the evil Litafil Kolam.  As he entered the Main Hall, he looked up, what he saw was something that amazed and shocked him.  Golden creatures were devouring knights of king Arthur.  The ceiling was decorated in actual moving statues, golden statues.  A never ending battle with evil, going horribly wrong.  He saw paladins such as himself being ended in seconds by a mere creature.  Hunerd fell to his knees.  Everything he’d been taught, his own god, being destroyed, being ripped to nothing...  Hunerd, a great paladin of the sword, sat in that hall.  Sobbing...

February 5th, 2003
    In a large room within The Blight Guild Castle, a group of... a group of the children of the blight were meeting.  At the head of the long dark ebony table sat Lord Litafil Kolam Of The Blight.  Next to him sat Zanyca, the keeper.  She was hurriedly taking down every single word said.  Lord Litafil was currently running off the list of things to do.  He then turned to Zanos, one of the generals in the children.  ‘Well Zanos, did you kill the leader of Helexcorps yet?’  Lord Litafil asked him kindly.  ‘Why, no sir, they were too strong, we barely got out alive!’ Zanos replied, a scared look on his face.  ‘Zanos, is there a problem?  You did not accomplish my task...  Are you weakening now?  Have you lost your talents?  This failure is intolerable Zanos, fix it at once.’  Litafil told him with a stern but kind look.  Zanos' eyes flared up, he stood up quickly then sneered.  ‘Why must I listen to you babble old man?  You are just a weak old man!  Stupid fool, I should just kill you and become the leader of the blight!’  Zanos cried angrily.  Litafil calmly stood, walking to Zanos he looked at him, and smiled.  ‘Zanos, Zanos, Zanos.  My poor dear.  Your such a young little kitten, and sometimes young kittens...’  Zanos growled in anger at kitten for he was a half cat.  Litafil then raised his eyes, his hand rapping around Zanos’ neck, he then lifted him up, holing him in the air, black mist shrouding around him.  ‘STRAY FROM THEIR MASTER!’  At this Litafil raised the man up, slamming him to the wall, a strange energy looking light came searing from Zanos’ mouth, his eyes burned thru, also revealing white mist flowing into Litafil’s mouth and eyes, which were dark and empty.  Finally Zanos’ body fell limp, Litafil let go of the three times shrunken body of Zanos.  The body fell into dust as it hit the ground.  Litafil withdrew a small glass veil from his pouch, holding one of his hands in a fist, the white glow came from his palm.  Litafil then placed the glowing orb in the veil.  As it went in, the veil looked heavier, and almost looked ready to bulge open.  Litafil placed the veil on his belt, then sat back down, he began to speak again, but when no one looked up at him he proclaimed, ‘The fool is no longer here, and as long as you do not disobey me, you will live, now get back into working order or I may have to do some harmful things to the rest of you...'

February 6th, 2003
The Blight Project:
        The fat little man held his cup tightly, his large thick rings squeezed at his fingers.  He plucked his mustache in a nervous habit.  Taking a large gulp of the harsh whiskey in the cup he looked at his company.  A tall man, cloaked in a dark black silk, his face shaded by the large hood pulling over his face.  The mans hand was in his cloak, taking something out of a larger size.  The small fat man squirmed as if the man was about to kill him, and for all he knew, he was!
    “Its from centuries long past.”  The cloaked mans voice sounded like a cart wheel going over a gravel road, scraping and scratching the surface of a mans brain.
    “That must mean its worth a great deal, correct am I?”  The short mans voice was much more shakier, and his harsh western accent dipped itself into butter, as the r’s and l’s rolled into the sentence.
    “It does, and I’ll see to it that you pay me a pretty penny for it also.”  The cloaked man said with a reassuring tone that he would.  The large item was now on the table.  A sword, a rune sword.  The stone blade was carved with symbols few knew, and even fewer had ever seen.  The cloaked man held out his hand.
    “Oh, right, the money, yes, right here.”  The stubby man reached into his brightly colored coat, taking out a bag of assorted gold and silver coins.  The fat man looked around the room, the cloaked mans house was quite poor.  Candles randomly set in places of the room poorly used.  The rickety chair he sat in nearly broke under his weight, the floor boards no better.  He set the bag on the table.
   
February 7th, 2003
(Continued)
    “Good, good...” The cloaked man said looking into the bag.  “This will do good.  Thank you for your business, let me help you to the door.”  The cloaked man said occupied with the gold and silver coins, already thinking about what he’d buy with it.
    Just then, a scream of unimaginable terror reigned out.  The dragon swooped in as quickly as possible, ripping the roof to pieces.  The mysterious traveler turned and smiled.  The fat man huddled under the table, shaking.
    “A waste of mortality...”  The cloaked man roe his arm, as if to meet the dragons rage.  But instead of crippling to his knees from the dragons next attack, the dragon screeched in horror as a black flame engulfed the dragon in whole.  The dark one turned, and stepped out of the torn down shack.

February 8th, 2003
    If magic were real I’d be a shoe.  Shoe’s kick ass.  They’re always unnoticed, yet so relied on.  Never too obscene, but never out of place.  A shoe is always being used, but never being mentioned.  Now that you think about it, it’s actually quite sad.  I mean, really!  Shoe’s get absolutely no love.  None, not even some for trying.  They just get thrown out like the rest of our possessions!  Why in the world would I bother with something so vain?  Am I that unintelligent?  The army is funny.  Military Intelligence.  Who ever thought of that?!

February 9th, 2003
    I’m an atheist.  I believe there is no god(s).  But at the same time, I believe people are in desperate need of gods.  If they don’t have gods, they tend to lose everything else.  Everyone is in desperate need of something.  Everyone needs to find comfort in something.  Some people are in immediate need of some personal guidance, so they look to figures created to make them feel safe.  A perfect thing for today, but instead people use it to wage wars, to kill, to force opinions over onto someone else.  Religions have grown corrupt, and everyone’s going to pay, and I’m going to be the first to say I tried to warn you.

February 10th, 2003
    I’m not sure what to write about, so I’m just going to make stuff up.  Hmm, lets see.  There was this one time that John Jingle Himer schmitd was singing his song walking down do-dad street with a hop in his foot and a skip in his jump!  He was singing so loud that Mary and her lambs beat the living hell out of him, so then I found something to write about!  Fairy tales are really messed up.  I mean, where in the world do they get off telling kids how to run things?!  My kids are never going to learn about nursery rhymes!

February 11th, 2003
    I hope my kids grow up just like I grew up.  Clean and well mannered.  They’ll be respectful, and listen when their father is speaking!  Yet he’ll listen back, and understand if they don’t speak appropriately back.  He’s their father after all!  Why, if he can’t understand, who will?!  My dad always used to say ‘You can’t rush an aardvark into labor, nor can you understand anyone else if you can’t understand yourself!

February 12th, 2003
    War with Iraq is most certainly inevitable.  What I don’t understand is why people are against it.  Sure, war is bad, and yet it’s what’s going to happen, so why not embrace it for it’s good.  For one, a terrorist is going to be taken out of power.  Second off, a horrible dictator who starves his people is going to be taken out of power.  Lastly, war is amazing for American economy.  I’ve heard arguments that war is not the only way.  Well, if we don’t go in and attack, we will become one of the countries that a car bombing happens every single day.  One of those countries where it’s not safe to go outside.  Isn’t that what America is about?  Freedom?  Not asking them to step down nicely.

February 13th, 2003
    A group of kids are playing outside.  I stare out the window, then down to my Coffee.  My birds whistle the theme song to The Andy Griffith Show.  My mother hums an old Bon Jovi hit and washes dishes.  My father cusses at the television screen for showing ‘So many damn commercials’.  My dog curls up next to me, laying on his back he holds his stuffed animal with his forelegs, chewing on the mussel of the stuffed cow.  The cat rubs against my mothers leg letting out random long strings of meows and mama’s.  Finally my mother opens the savored tuna can, and scups a large hunk of the fish on the cats bowl, stroking her under the chin.  Tuesday night at the St. Germaine’s.

February 14th, 2003
    Looking at myself in the mirror, my pimples are starting to come back.  I roll my heels in anxiousness for what awaits.  For some reason, it’s not starting up.  To pass the time by quicker, I grab hold a magazine from behind me, and let go of the reigns.  Home & Gardening has never been so interesting.  Still, nothing happened.  I place the magazine at its’ holster for another day, then turn to my secret weapon.  The warm soothing liquid comes flowing out of the nozzle.  I  take aim with the right hand.  Finally I am relieved.  Taking my sweat time, I drain every ounce of energy out of me, then wash my hands clean of filth.  Another day at auto class.

February 15th, 2003
    Going to the movies is one of the most annoying activities ever.  You walk in, and there are a ton of old women standing in-front of you waiting to see some movie that you just know they’re going to fall asleep too.  Then when you finally get up to the front you have to show some form of ID before they’ll let you see the rated R movie.  Then when you go to get candy, there’s always that extra-large guy, that no matter how heavy you are, is always 3 times more fat.  For some reason, he wants to order the last of what you want.  Then you’re stuck eating some repetitive made-up candy by the store manager.  Finally when you get into the movie, no matter how tall you are, a guy 2 feet taller then you sits down in front of you.  You only catch 75 percent of the screen, and only half of the action because someone brought their little kid and he just HAS to keep bawling.  Then you never even like the movie, but you see it two months later on a public station and you love it and wonder why in the world you hated it so much at the movies.

February 16th, 2003
    Ah the library.  Rows upon rows of books lining the walls, intellect booming, books for every meaning, books of all shapes and sizes.  Picture books, novels, research books, fan based books, poetry, philosophy, science, anything you’d ever want to know.  They’ve also got computers, copiers, fax machines, video-tapes/DVD’s, and my personal favorite; bums!  You know who I’m talking about!  The guy who you really can’t tell if he’s black or not he’s so grubby.  The guy who sits in the back of the library half awake looking at you when you’re not looking.  Don’t you love those bums!?

February 17th, 2003
    I hate going to the mall.  100’s of people all there for one reason; shopping.  If it isn’t little kids running through your legs[tires] it’s store managers and desk clerks giving you a hell of a time just to find something.  Luckily for me, all my stores that I frequent are near exits.  Malls make me feel vulnerable, like someone could shoot me, or blow the place up, or fill the place with tear gas in a mater of seconds.  That’s NOT a good feeling.  Who would want to though?  But there’s always that awareness.  One store I don’t like particularly is ‘Fanny Farmers’.  They always treat me like knowing the names of every single chocolate in the entire universe is common-knowledge, and that everything I want to buy I HAVE GOT TO TASTE OR PARISH IN THE DEPTHS OF HELL FOR ALL ETERNITY!

February 18th, 2003
    I remember my childhood.  Ah, it was amazing.  Didn’t have to think, didn’t have to bother, didn’t have all of these fandangle social-laws that have no general meaning.  Sure, we’ve gotten more naughty as an economy, but we have grown deeper and deeper into the ‘I’m rubber you’re glue’ scenario.  I remember when calling a girl fat didn’t get the entire community of fat people on you.  I remember when 86% or all Americans weren’t obese.   What ever happened to the times when people personally respected themselves, and didn’t give people a reason to laugh.  If people are laughing because of one of your mistakes of misusing your body, you better fix that mistake, or live with the fact that it’s going to happen, because some organization isn’t going to make you any less different, it’s just going to make you null to the fact that you’ve got a problem that needs fixing.  They’ll hold you like a little baby and never let you look at yourself.  God I hate self image groups.

February 19th, 2003
    Ever since recently, I was vaguely homophobic, but within the last 2 or so years, I’ve come to realize that love is love, no matter how you want it.  Gay people have every right to love.  I may not think it’s right, but they still have every right to do it, in public if they wish!  Last year, everyone’s good friend Jimmy wore a dress because he was proud of his sexual preference, and the school asked him to take it off or he’d be suspended.  I didn’t stand for it, so I told the school that I and 4 other guys would wear a skirt every day for the rest of the year if they didn’t allow Jimmy at least one day of his own pride.  They let him wear it.

February 20th, 2003
    Music is my life.  I’m always listening to music.  Always.  If I didn’t have music, I’d be a sad and lonely person.  Music makes the soul escape, allows it to roam and move, and to fill up it’s new space for a few minutes.  The words being sung in rhythmic tones, and slow or fast chants, with a blare of guitar, then a slow drum solo, it all allows you to escape and rethink the past 2 seconds, once again, then again, one last time, wait another!  and so on.  Music feeds the mind and spirit to expand and replenish.

February 21st, 2003
    New Orleans is amazing.  You get about a mile from the French Quarters and you immediately hear some sort of music happening in the background.  Someone is playing a trumpet somewhere, someone is plucking a banjo, someone is having a blast.  Someone is loving life.  Get further in and you’ll find magic shows, rings of fire, jugglers, an entire circus act all devoted to this place.  Amazing.