Some Of My Old Posts

here are some things i forgot to upload a while ago.

Well I think that I will leave that last post just the way it is. I am sober… no no I am not haha I am baked! However, I am not feeling the speed any more. I am on the other funking bunking trucking hunked. Man I cannot keep up with Nathen to save my life. The motherfucker smokes a huge bowl and is always ready for more. I have my share of Mr. big bowl and I feel like I am going to fucking die.

On a lighter note I am now 90% sure, that what I had was indeed speed, and not the promised extasy. Now that I sit here and take stock of how I am feeling I can’t help but wonder why I am not feeling even a little sleepy after all that pot? Perhaps it could have pill all those uppers Nathen fed to me? Not what I wanted, but this is a weird all the same. Perhaps not forty dollars weird, but damn weird.

Nathen is trying to get me into a drug habit. Mother fucker. Well really I deserve it. So what is new with everyone? I’m typing on my lap top at Nathen's house and we are playing some Alien Vs. Predator Evolution for Mr.ps2. Drew's was supposed to be coming over but has yet to turn up. I hope he did not go to the wrong door and then go home thinking we played a trick him. He had better be smart enough to call.

This day has gone by so very quickly. Again, I blame Nathen. Selling me speed telling me it is extasy. What kind of crap is that? Lamer than lame really. So it seems it is time to at the very least trim my beard. It is rather ridiculous. I normally I don’t like writing when high on weed but as I have mentioned a few times before now that uppers, despite having already been in me 16 hours still seem to be clinging.

This game and the music are still distracting me. I am making Nathen listen to some Ska. So typing is going a little slowly. Distractions hide behind every nook and cranny. Cranny is a funny word if you thinking about it for too long while high. I need to start working on a style of writing. This free form thought seems too easy to just be a style.

Then again perhaps my free flow of thought is different from other peoples, and the process of my thinking will give me enough of a distention to get away with calling it a style. I have to wonder if people like JRR and CS really thought the way that they wrote. CS would have some pretty odd vocal mannerisms… if you went strictly by the Narnia books that is. I have yet to read any of his other works.

I have been making some odd choices lately. I went to High Tech the other day and did not spend a cent. I tried to do extasy… and ended up taking speed. I want to get a tattoo of a lion on my right breast. One standing in the same pose as the lions you would see on a coat of arms, but not as rigid. Have it more flowing, and not so puttsy. Well what do you know, Puttsy isn’t a word.

Always keeping my writing to equal four lines on this font on this program…would be an interesting but cramping style of writing. It wouldn’t be awkward enough to be beautiful like a hiku, but it would still be a fuck load of work. To get it to space out right I would have to do so much editing, and then I would have to stretch other parts of what I was writing with useless filler words. Get it?

My grade eight teacher had to take over as principal half way thew the year. A fat cow of a beast with extremely bad temper replaced her and she was only starting out as a teacher. The years of teaching would surely only sour her further. She was once teaching the class that if we wrote “I think” at the start of our sentences that would we get a higher mark for the writing assignment she was going to give us.

Now, I do not know about you, but this seemed like a hella stupid idea to me. I asked her why would get better marks just by writing “I think,” or something similar before our sentences. She said that it showed that you really had been thinking. I argued that I would have had to be thinking to write anything down, if I was not thinking, I could not write anything.

She insisted that despite my protest she would still make the class fill out the answers the way that she wanted them filled out. She went as far as to make sure I was doing it correctly by walking by my desk and leaning over me to see my paper. Power tripping wench. I did her assignment the way she wanted, so as to stop her constant bothering of me.

However the next day when she collected our math homework, she opened my book only to find that every single answer was filled in “I think the answer is 14.” When I got it back, I noticed that the answers had been marked all correctly. I got out of my desk bringing my math and English work from the day before with me I dropped them down on her desk and demanded to know where my bonus marks where.

Not a bad little story. Some of that had to be tampered with no make it fit the four-line rule that I do not even like to use. Why would I hold myself to rules that I made up myself? What would be the attracting in ever making things harder for yourself by setting limitations on your actions voluntarily? I just ask the same question twice did not i. Does it really make my point clearer if I ask similar questions twice.

Ask Nathen for a Topic

Round One: It is fucking taking him an hour to think of something for me to write about.

Round One Take Two: Aliens

Brav-fricken-o Nathen. He said Aliens. We’re playing Aliens Vs Predator. He sat there forever thinking of something for me to write about and the best he can come up with is aliens. It is a good think he has never been asked to go to participate in a think tank or focus group. This section was to be about Aliens, and I suppose that I have mentioned them enough for it to count so just one more thing. Aliens Rock!

Round Two: Zombies

Not an entirely an original idea but it is much better than aliens. At least there aren’t any Zombies on the TV in front of him. I will openly admit that I am not the largest zombie fan. I did enjoy Prince of Persia, but I would not attribute its success with the fact that it is indeed just another zombie game. Zombie movies have also been pretty low on my must see list. Day of the dead does look much more promising however.

Round Three: Navy Seals

I was once tempted to sign up for the navy seals training course that they offer to Civilians. To see if Joe Every Man would be able to hold up in the face of the worst training conditions imaginable. This was rather a stupid temptation I now realize, ignoring this issue of money alone, how the hell would I make it past day one. Navy Seals are some of the most hard core bastards there are out there.

Round Four: Turtles

I have been a fan of turtles for as long as I can remember. From the little turtles, Steven Belt used to have to Teen Aged, to the chocolate covered caramel. How could you go wrong with these slow and steady creatures? I have always wanted to have a very large round-shelled tortoise to slowly crawl around my back yard from pond to pond. Drinking tea I would watched it. I also wanted to meet Donitello.

Round Five: Food

He is hungry. Kraft dinner will soon be boiling in a small pot on the stove. The kitchen and its hard wood floors are home to very little food that was fit to eat. More likely beer, butter and a half-filled box of baking soda. Even Kraft dinner is a challenge when you don’t have milk. Eating it with just butter may work but not too many would opt for such an option. Putting milk and no butter is more acceptable in my minds eye.

Round Six: Trolls

Trolls have been part of common fork lore for longer than I can know. From the friendly freaky haired trolls that graced us like uninspired beanie babies, to the brutish monster that lived in caves fearing the light of the sun, trolls now can only be found in Danish gift shops and book stores. These fearsome giant humanoids serve as easy template in the face of any uninspired D&D game.

Round Seven: Beer

Not a suggestion by Nathen, but he as well as I are drinking beer. It would be more correct to say we are each having a beer, as it is the only beer we have left. Then it may be even more correct to say that we are drinking Tylers last two beer while he is on vacation with his family and we play Alien Vs Preditor at Nathens house. Sleeman honey brown lager. Costs more than you would ever want to spend on a drink.

That is all for now

SEAN!!!

***Another Post made late that day.***

I can’t believe rap has made it this far. Why can’t you people understand?! Stop it! God. I’m baked . 33 hours with no sleep, two mystry pills and around ten or so bowls of Mary J, and at least 2 or three jays. If I ever go into rehap I may be able to say this last day and a half was the low point of my drug addiction. Then all the other addicts would boo me off stange and throw their shoes for lack of any better projectile.

There is some really fucking weird politics in this apartment that Nathen lives in. The two girls always seem to be off in dark corners planning the next grocery list, or how to get into Brady’s pants. I would say the short one is the most likely canidate for alpha of this level of the house. There are other people who live down stairs from here. Drug dealers I believe. I’m not really sure how it all plays out here.

Haha for a second I was worried the ink was going to run out on the computer screen and I wouldn’t be able to finish writing.

The blond and as moody as I would expect, and the short stack likes to talk behind others backs in an almost eastern canadian accent. Perhaps it is just the pitch of her voice. I’m sure I could figure out by asking, but who wants to do that? If you say me. Then you are right, I want to ask her and find out now. Wooo…. You know I don’t think it is even the writing that is good when you are baked it is the process of writing that feels really good. You miss words and have type o and some times you leave out whole halves of sentances because your memorie is shot. Distractions are all over the place. But the way you start to think when you are putting the words down. Like a waterfall of ideas that flows out of my forhead and onto the keybored splashing over my fingers as it falls.

You must learn to control how fast you think orther wise your fingers won’t keep up and you will start to miss the point. If there was ment to be a point. If you just want to free flow write it really is best to use a pen. You miss to many keys when you just let it flow flow flow….. man this music fucking sucks. How can nathen listen to this crap all day. He used to like korn, I know he could like punk.

Yeah. I had a beer that wasn’t too tasty. Sleemans honey brown. It really helped push that bowl up into my head. Nathen is still a virgin. Just thought I would let you know. He didn’t give me a ride and he didn’t get laid. *shakes head* I think he may be gay.

Sow hat else is new with sean? Well my jaw is trying to go really tight together and I have to force myself to relax it. Ha. Force it to relax. Other wise it will tense up and I will get a head ache. I’m really fucking baked out of my mind. If I smoke to much more you will be able to use my blood for oil. This music sucks.

Man I’m done.

SEAN!!!

I will admit it, when I started to read Part Three of the life of Pi my heart began to sink. However looking back now that I am done I realize I should have had more faith. Yann, you pulled it off, remind me to buy him a drink next time he is in at McGettigans. Margaret Atwood gave him a good review, I don’t know if props from her holds any real weight as I have never read any of her books. Lisa has a few of them, and I know the names of a few of her books, so I guess she is worth mentioning.

I will say nothing of the story for fear that you have yet to read it. If it is the case that you have missed out on this book up until now that you seriously consider picking it up. You can barrow my copy if you like. It was most enjoyable.

The more I write the more I want to read. The more I read the more I want to write. Finally, this is starting to get out of hand. I am writing every where I go, at work I scribble lyrics on scraps of paper, Nathen’s I bring my laptop along, at home I go back and forth from my book to my laptop to the family computer. I hope that my writing is starting to improve. Any feed back you would like to offer would be most welcome, negative or other wise. I would hate the think that I am spending all this time reading, writing, and not improving.

There is a small sign of progression under all these diary entries; I have started to write a short story. It takes places in the third person, which is a bit rigid I find. When I write here, I can switch from third to first person on a whim. I am writing “what I know” so you can expect it to involve coffee, biking, drugs, and women. I do not think it is very good so far, but it has been almost a year since I wrote something like this. I will post it whether I like it or not when I am finished with it, or when I give up on it and decide it is hopeless.

What I am enjoying almost more than writing is editing my writing. Going back and rewording what I wrote. Taking out contractions, moving and changing words, adding new ideas and taking out old ones. I hope I do not decide to become a writer. If I do that I may as well sell all my possession right now and move out on the street. I think I will go back and edit what I just wrote. Back. I spent a good tem minutes or so messing with what I wrote, and sadly it is lost forever. Part of me hates to delete things from my writings for fear that with time these mindless rambling will develop some deeper meaning that I will only understand when I look back on them years from now. Then another part of me knows that I will not want to read four hundred pages of crap. Ah I love that I am getting into the habit of just typing cannot, but I don’t like that I spell hobbit every time I try to spell habit.

Then there is my other worry. My speed-induced rant received very high reviews from Nathen and Co. After hearing that I wrote a good seven pages, he insisted that I printed him off a copy. Then he wanted a copy of my mushroom rant and my drunken review of Mr.Larson. Every one seemed to have only good things to say about all three pieces of work, and reread me some of their favorite passages today when I got back from climbing. Also, the feed back I get from devoted fans and fellow eJunkies has primarily been in regards to such entries. While I have not writing anything substantial lately while sober, I cannot help but get the feeling that I write better when under the influence. Perhaps my spelling is worse than normal, I get off track regularly, but people seem to enjoy it more.

I am also realizing I am a total attention whore. Sure I locked my diary but I gave almost every one a password anyway… except Drew. I did not realize you did not have one until today, I will be sure to make you one so you can read this if you so desire. While I was worried that Nathen may take offense to my mockery of his lacking libido, once I realized he did not care, I love how much attention he and the others were giving my work. I tried to quell this lust for attention by steeling back the printed copies so as to make sure his girlfriend, and any one else passing threw wouldn’t read what I wrote. Now I run the risk of some one in my family finding the printed copy…

God I am itchy. These socks are driving me one step beyond madness.

If I convince myself that I write better while on drugs, I can see myself starting to do drugs just to write better. Perhaps it is just that people like to read about drugs. It is a rather dark topic to be tackling. Most of my readers are either fellow drug users and can relate to what I write, or want to be drug users and live vicariously threw my writings. Or so I assume. Why else would they read? Do you read my eJournal just because my name lit up and some text informed you that I updated 3 hours ago? Or did I print this off for you and ask you to read it. Worse still… did you blindly stumble across this some where and are just killing time reading?

Pift. I should work on my writing a little more actively. Sure what I am doing now is helping to develop the habit of writing, but is it helping me further my style? I sure complain a lot in here. I think it is a common theme among eJunkies. The under appreciated attention whores of the Internet. Can you see a bit of yourself in my writing? Or do you make me as a black sheep and use me as an example as what you do not want to become.

After doing speed and hanging around Nathen for this past week and a half I really start to realize how weak my “drug addiction” is, or was. I was what, smoking a bowl a week perhaps? Maybe two if there was a party going on. Nathen smokes more in a day than I do in a week. He also has not been asleep since we took magic pills. He just keeps taking more, so he just keeps awake. How can some one as charismatic as he be able to get almost any one to try smoking pot, yet still be a virgin? His excuse for missing out after Enver’s can be found at the end of this sentence. It is possible, and unfortunate if true… but there is something inside of me, deep down inside of me that thinks he is lying about that too.

What do I think happened? I will tell you despite it being rather personal, and embarrassing. When a person takes extasy, they typically become very horny. Mixing the drug with viagra is a popular past time at raves I am told. One of the first indicators that what I had ingested was not extasy was that two hours into my would be trip, I was feeling anything but frisky. Some hours later I found myself at home in the bathroom looking down at my penis. I was extremely shocked to see that even while flaccid it was looking to be only about half of its normal size. Feeling very concerned for my purple headed warrior I attempted to arise myself, but after much time, and agitation achieved very little success. I cursed Nathen and his miss labeled drugs, only to brake out in laughter. I took two, he had taken four. The picture of Nathen lying in bed beside his girlfriend with a mutual look of disappointment on their faces was more than I could bear.

Truthfully I do not know that the drug had the same affect on him or not, but I do know that typically I do not have a lacking libido. Until that moment my only problem in that area was that, I would pitch a tent far too often. I cannot help but laugh, and hope that it does not have any long lasting effects. As for me, I am already back to my old self and no worse for wear. That being said…

That drunken farm dog was right. They do not tell you how much fun it is. Hardcore drugs are amazing in what they do to you. Sure they are worse for you than most things you could put in your body, but it beats the hell out of being bored or depressed or even being just mildly content. All the same, I think I will abstain for a little while. I may eat some mushrooms this weekend, for experimental and literary reasons. For a good three weeks after I ate mushrooms I have been sick. It was the same sickness both times and I want to find out if mush was the true culprit, or if it was just my quarterly pains.

I have decided that I will save extasy until I have some with whom I could enjoy it. Watching Brady rub his body against the wall and dance for a good five hours with out stopping was rather entertaining. Yet I believe I would prefer another warm body to dance with when I give this party drug the old collage try. I never intended to try speed. I would have turned it down had some one offered it to me for free… or rather I may have accepted it and then sold it. I have been informed that the experience is very much like cocaine, so I have unwittingly checked two drugs off of my to do list instead of one.

After extasy, the only other drug left is mescaline, which I may never get the chance to try anyway.

So after I find some one to try extasy with, I can retire from the hard core drug life and live out the rest of my days as a run of the mill pot head.

I am going to bed.

SEAN!!!

It was the writing on the wall, it don’t bother me at all…

I didn’t write yesterday. I didn’t write all of today. It is now 12:23 according to my alarm clock, which I set to be at least fifteen minutes fast. I saw some pretty odd things on mushrooms but I couldn’t bring myself to write about any of it. I made one attempt early on in the evening then gave up,

Every time

I am too early on to be typing.

It is sad when I turn to writing as my only friend. I am at Nathen’s house. He has become more my dealer than my close friend.

Everything is so small, understandable and clear whenever I take mush. Life is banging on the walls around me trying to make grow up and move on with things.

This writing thing is not cutting it any more. Fuck. I will blame the mushrooms for my teary eyed antics. The world is small and manageable outside these walls there is no outside, no winter, no setting sun. It is just myself sitting in the corner.

The human species is capable of so much more. I complained before that English is just a filter that people use to express emotions and just a filter to help other understand one another. I’ll finish that thought later, I have to go for a minute.

Needless to say I never went back to writing. I went out looking for a job today, with out my dad yelling at me to stop being lazy and get a job. I guess that is a small sign of growing up. I don’t feel like writing any more.

SEAN!!!

The summer wind came blowing in from across the sea.

“What is missing?”

-Katie

I wrote nachos then drew a little picture of a marijuana leaf. The answer is simple when you are looking at a jig saw puzzle. The next piece, the next step, the next section and the bits to fill in the in between. What is missing? I had better think of a good answer for tomorrow. At least give thanks for giving me something to write about.

Another month of calm followed by a storm. My father has told me to move out again. He knows I will not, and if I try, he will not let me. That however has never stopped his threats. Do this by this day or get out. I do not know why people set dates for things that do not need too ever been done, or at least do not need to be done for a long time. We are very different people, him and I. He says I cannot blame people for wanting to make money and sell out. I say he cannot blame them, because he himself is driven by money. I can blame them all I want however, I am driven by something else. It is not driving me with any great passion but it is driving me none the less. I would like to say it is art that pushes me forward, but we have been over this before, and I am no artist.

Complaints that we never talk any more. That one did come as a surprise despite what I am about to say. I feel like I know what he will think about something before I ask him. I used to turn to him for advice or his opinion on things, but really, I could do with out it now. Why would I seek out his opinion when I have friends like Drew, Tyler, Kate, and yes, even you Jessica to draw wisdom from about life, love and happiness. Your verired perspectives on life help give me a clearer picture of the way of things.

I have said before I separate myself from those who bother me, it seems that my father has fallen to this category. Soccer, school, and money are his topics of choice. I do not play well with others, I do not learn well with others and I would be as happy in a hovel as I would be in a palace. Do not kid yourself, I still need money to get by. It is a fact of the world we live in. If I do not give the man money, he will not give me my Orange Pekoe and that is just not acceptable.

I do not think my alarm clock went off this morning. It may have sounded then I turned it off with out fully waking. Either way it is cause for concern, as I need to be up for work in ten hours.

Dance like no one is watching

With one fist in the air.

Climbing today was satisfactory. My arms gave out about half way up the last climb and had to cheat in order to make it the rest of the way. Feeling feeble is bad enough when you have been climbing for a few hours, I cannot imagine what it will be like when I am old. The more I say I hope I am dead by then the more I mean it. Being old looks fucking shitty. Lisa’s mom just had a stroke and consequently speaks funny, cannot go to the bathroom by herself and is depressed out of her mind. If I get to that point please shoot me. At that point, it is not even life any more it is slow painful torture, a march towards what cannot be avoided, only postponed.

Sometimes it feels like there is nothing I can do but lay in bed all day. The memory of this last workweek will soon be gone forever. If I never love, again know that there was nothing I enjoyed more than writing for you here. I know I have made an ass of myself, put my foot in my mouth time after time, made you worry, angry and laugh. Drunk, baked and hallucinating I did my best to entertain and avoid spelling mistakes. Some days it would take me ten tries before I got my password correct. I wonder if I will ever really look back.

I still think about that four year old girl found dead in the Dumpster.

This next bit is for Chad.

Does my memory keep her alive or dead?

If a picture can take your soul

Can a memory keep it alive?

Does the black only become black

Once no one remembers your name,

Who you were and what you did

While you were here?

Forgive me for this torment

I will try to let you go

Forgetting is forgiveness.

I could totally pass as a Goth if I keep writing like that. I used to question the end, now I can hardly bother. I will know one day. A rattle from deep inside me as the last bit of air slips past my lips. Is death the next adventure, or the end of the last… many of you will disagree with me when I say this is the end. What more could you ask for after this? Do no act of kindness unless it is in itself the reward. This is life, and as likely the end as not.

What is missing?

An answer.

SEAN!!!