Trying to read something for school here and I find it interesting that when I have loud music playing I'm far less distracted. When music isn't playing, I start to go subtly mad from hearing the small noises of people existing in the other rooms . . . Forks and knived against plates, cabinets opening and closing . . . it all makes my skin crawl.

Honestly, for me, evidence of other people in the vicinity can be as bad as fingernails on a chalkboard. If not worse. I am not exaggerating.

Yet I'm strangely more comfortable in a crowd at Starbucks or the mall . . . I think I shall now go to such a place to finish my reading.

I just thought up a really bad joke:

Whether Aragorn chooses Arwen or Eowyn, it is basically a wen wyn situation.

I can't be the first person to think of that . . .

I just watched Daffy Duck attempt several times to murder his friend. Daffy was unsuccessful, which was fortunate for him as his friend later saved Daffy's life by killing himself. The doctor thought he might be able to save Daffy's friend until Daffy took his friend's brain, threw it on the floor, and began stamping on it.

This was on the new Duck Dodgers series featured as part of Cartoon Network's Saturday morning lineup.

I wonder why it is that I thought it perfectly good fun when Eric Cartman killed the parents of his enemy and fed the diced up pieces of them to his enemy, but this new Daffy Duck cartoon just leaves me feeling sickened? Perhaps it was that the victim was not Daffy's enemy. Perhaps it was that the cartoon seemed to feel there was nothing wrong with Daffy murdering this person, while the fun of the South Park episode was that it was so over-the-top wrong. In any case, the writers of Duck Dodgers are morons who do not appear to grasp the humour behind the violence in classic Looney Toons.

And how is it, you may ask, that this sort of thing can be shown on a children's show? Well, you see, Daffy's friend was a robot. So long as everyone you butcher is a machine--no matter how sentient he/she/it behaves, or how human he/she/it is shaped--it's perfectly kosher. This is a weird standard that's exploited to very good effect on Samurai Jack. I fear it's the morons on Duck Dodgers that'll ruin things for good shows like Samurai Jack.

...

I feel more tired to-day than I did yesterday. I did get some writing done, though. I wrote for two and a half hours at Trisa's Starbucks, continuing what looks to be a very, very long chapter 76.

I'm missing a few CDs. A few good ones . . . Tori Amos's Little Earthquakes, Elvis Costello's Blood and Chocolate . . .

I'm feeling tired to-day, now, and I haven't really done much of anything yet. Maybe it's the heat. Maybe it's the drama. I wish people'd stop putting lemon juice on their own wounds.

Sometimes I wish the big space mamma that everyone seems to be waiting for would just fall down and crush us like ants.

I'm sounding vague, aren't I? Well, I'm hoping I can hit some people who evidently do not enjoy listening or comprehending. If you're struck, then you know who you are.

...

I feel . . . sluggish. Drinking some good, very good coffee at the moment.

I had an interesting day yesterday. I kinna went on tour; first to the mall to buy tim the new H.R. Giger calendar for Tim's birthday, then to Tim's, then to my mother's house, then to my biological father's house, then to Trisa's house, and then she and I went to Micheals, the Olive Garden, and finally to the Madstone to see El Mariachi, which we both enjoyed.

I'll feel better if I write to-day . . .

Hm. Almost woke up too late.

To-day's Tim's birthday, as he informed me last night. I'm gonna need to go out and purchase something for the fellow now, but what? This is one of those tasks that can turn out to be mega-time consuming and I hope that's not the case to-day. I feel like I've had hardly any time over the past several days . . . The only real writing I've gotten done was one three hour spurt at Trisa's Starbucks. And while that went well, it was well below my pace of previous weeks.

There are a lot of things I would like to do right now. I'd like to work on my novel. I'd like to write a short story. I'd like to post comments on Caitlin Kiernan's message board. I'd like to hang out with Trisa. I's like to investigate mysteries. I'd like to see what's crawled up Cryptess's ass. I'd like to do a new page of Doll Merchant.

But what I am gonna do is get dressed . . . get out of here . . . and go shopping.

I hate Thursdays.

I was rather tired all day Wednesday, and now it's nearly 2am Thursday and suddenly I can't sleep. Had trouble sleeping Tuesday night as well. My mind is occupied.

Gods . . . I hate people.

Started class this week. My two main, real classes are Japanese II and British Lit I. Very different subjects, yes? Guess what they have in common.

First time attending both classes, the teachers wanted every student in the class to introduce themselves to someone else in the class, interview them, and be interviewed in turn. To "make a new friend". To make me fucking puke, more like.

Just what the fuck is this obnoxious forced ritual? I don't ask the "point" because I sense the point in much the same way I smell a pile of shit--that by forming human connexions with our classmates we're less likely to drop the class and we're more likely to "get involved" with the class subject matter in our social animal group mentality . . . thing.

Well guess what? It doesn't help me one bit because all these people fucking suck and I don't wanna be involved with them. Not one jot, iota, tittle, etcetera. Don't believe it's that bad, eh? Think ol' Setsuled is a crabby, anti-social lich or something? Let's take, then, for example the fellow I interviewed for Brit Lit.

He gave me a bunch of boring details--the most important one here is when I asked what his favourite music is, he replied that it was Worship Music. Worship Music. Do you, reader, know what that is? Hmm? In short, it is the sound of mediocrity. To elaborate, it's Christian rock, featuring songs about how The Lord is The One and is Great and All Wonderful and . . .

Well, you get the idea. I mean, I love a lot of art featuring Christian related themes and even characters (despite the fact that if I find that the Christian god is not dead, I certainly intend to kill him) but Worship Music is something else altogether. It's arrogant, it's ignorant, and . . . well, I'm digressing.

The point is . . . why all the people, people? Why you need all these? Is being alone really that tough for you alls, so tough that you need several friends lined up for when some are unaccessible?

Your Life: The Movie by mintyduck
Who will play you:	Jason Lee
Who will play your love interest:	Demi Moore
Weeks you will stay in the box office:	25
Song that will play during your love scene:	The Bangles - Eternal Flame
Song that will play during your death:	Emiliana Torrini - If You Go Away
Your name:
Created with quill18's MemeGen!

(snurched from Mel).

I do like to think my current beard is a little Jason Lee-ish.

Yesterday involved peculiar Japanese ice creams and Morrowind and the evening brought an e-mail from a Nebari imitating Samuel L Jackson.

Can't say much else as I'm in a hurry . . .

Two days of no productivity now, but I'm thinking that's okay since school starts on Monday and Trisa and I have just made up. Flimsy excuses, I know, but still . . .

Last night, she and I saw The Secret Lives of Dentists, which was really a lot of fun. Best use of the stomach flu that I've ever seen in a movie, and the whole thing worked rather well, even if it could've done without the Dennis Leary character.

There are cookies all over this room . . .

Well, so, not much else I wanna say at the moment. Ja ne.

Listening to samples from David Bowie's new album due out next month. So far I like it better than Heathen, and I loved Heathen.

Apparently, according to my memories of yesterday, Trisa and I are speaking and hanging out again. So yay-ness. We watched The Misfits (and enjoyed it), I tried to seduce her (didn't work), and we ate food at various places. Good fun, and I fulfilled my goal yesterday of screwing around.

Monday class starts, which I am looking forward to. Hope I don't fuck up or anything.

I still have one class to pay for, so I think I'll go and see if the college cashier is open on Saturdays.

Beat Castlevania: Symphony of the Night last night, which makes me pretty kick ass, I know. It got a lot easier once I found out that the Alucard Shield (not, mind you, the Alucard from Hellsing) could kill anyone really quickly while similtaneously healing me.

This was at Tim's house, of course. After we watched and made fun of the end game cut scene and credits, we went to his living room to watch The Daily Show, during which I became aware of what sounded like a small child sobbing in the next room.

I glanced at Tim questioningly as I knew that there had not been any small children in his house for maybe five years.

"Hear that?" grinned Tim. "That's Charlie."

I thought this was some kind of joke at first . . . Charlie is the name of one of Tim's cats. But I could see that he was serious.

"He only does it when he thinks he's alone," said Tim.

"That's really weird," said I. The sounds were so like human speech that I could swear that I could almost discern specific english words . . . almost. It was very like hearing someone speak in a foreign language similer to english, like french or spanish. Your mind automatically starts sorting the sounds into recognisable words. Very weird.

...

I think I'll devote to-day to screwing around. I've been given the titles of lazy bum, moocher, and lay-about. It's time I started earning them.

Didn't sleep really at all last night because it was really very hot. The fan was on high but seemed to exist on another plane of reality, visible from this one, but not tangible.

I don't remember much of yesterday except I wrote a very crucial chapter of my novel and I watched Blade Runner and Farscape.

I think I'll go to North County Fair now as this definately feels like a day for getting away from it all.

So long, it all.

On the freeway last night there was a car stopped in the second lane from the left with a girl standing on top screaming incoherently. A young shaven headed fellow was trying to talk her down--to me, it looked like perhaps he was the driver, and in the midst of a traffic jam, his drunken female passenger climbed onto the roof, forcing him to stop the car.

Now, as I watched a police car pull up to them with flashing lights, threading carefully through the traffic that was now slow-moving only because of this disruption, I knew someone was in trouble but I wasn't sure who and how. The guy can hardly be blamed for stopping the car when the girl was on the roof. I guess the girl would get busted for drunken, disorderly conduct but that kinna sucks. I mean, if she's so hammered that she's climbing on top of a moving car in the middle of the freeway, should she really be blamed for her actions? I guess they actually put a lot of people in danger, so I guess someone has to pay . . .

I wrote lots yesterday. For three hours at a Starbucks in Clairemont by the Japanese mall, then for another two hours at Horton Plaza. I have been all too energetic lately . . . All in all, yesterday was very, very, very good.

I think I took this too seriously . . .

Children
Circle I Limbo

Hipsters
Circle II Whirling in a Dark & Stormy Wind

Ants
Circle III Mud, Rain, Cold, Hail & Snow

Emotional opportunists
Circle IV Rolling Weights

Thomas Kinkade
Circle V Stuck in Mud, Mangled

River Styx

blackmailers
Circle VI Buried for Eternity

River Phlegyas

Religious zealots
Circle VII Burning Sands

Mercenary friends
Circle IIX Immersed in Excrement

rapists
Circle IX Frozen in Ice

Design your own hell

Things sure went well yesterday. Got a Thea Gilmore CD in the mail, which got me terribly, irrationally excited. There's an artist I'd been wanting to check out for a very long time. I also got an unexpected extra one hundred dollars . . . I think I'll sign up for another college class. Maybe then certain family members will get the hell off my back about not having a job (oh, I'm such an archetype!)(yes, I know I can think of worse names for me. I've been called by them several times in the past couple weeks).

Now I'm gonna go out and eat because there are children here. I feel good about to-day.

Thought about blood a lot yesterday. First as a plan to get rid of the ants in the kitchen--I thought, "I wonder how they'd react if they were all drowned in blood?" The little fellas must've heard my thoughts because they blessedly disappeared that very night.

Mine's really not a disturbed mind, by the way.

Then I thought of blood at Tim's house while playing Castlevania: Symphony of the Night which is, by far, the best Castlvania game and I heartily recommend it, if you can somehow get your hands on it. It is extremely hard to come by. Tim had to get his copy off some thing similer to ebay. And even then there was only one copy.

Anyway, I was playing it, and I picked up the Blood Cloak in a room filled with bloody chopped up people parts. And I started thinking about how much I badly wanted tomato sauce, right away. So strong was the desire that I left Tim's forthwith and came here to make a pizza, on which I verily poured copious amounts of that vivid red fluid. Yum!

...

The computer's been running horribly slow lately and I don't know why. It's really starting to piss me off. I left it defragmenting all night, but that didn't seem to work. I honestly don't know what's slowing it down . . . if anyone has any ideas, I'll thank you powerfully if you e-mail 'em to me.

Hey, look at that! (that way -->) I sorta got archives now! I can't get January working for some reason, but still, finally, wow! It was a lot harder than I suspect it should be. I guess I'm probably missing something technical . . . but, frell it, it works! Hurrah! (I mean it!)

Just did a new page of Doll Merchant while listening to Philip Glass. And now both myself and three cats needs to be fed, so I'm gonna go and take care of us all.

It's too bad the kitchen's become again a place of hellfire stress, what with the return of the ant pestilence. Oh, damn you ants. I guess I'll eat out . . .

I have too many ideas about what I'm to do to-day. So I'm kinna paralyzed contemplating the possibilities.

Typed lots and lots yesterday after I finally finished sorting through my stuff. I've neatly put all the stuff I wants to be rid of in one box. Looks generally to be Star Wars and Anne Rice books . . . I guess I'll try to sell 'em at used bookstores or something.

Watched Gangs of New York last night. Fentastic movie. I'd only seen it once in the cinema, but it was a good viewing as it was in the quiet and respectful atmosphere of the Madstone.

I feel just blah to-day. And a little queasy. I'm discusted at life or something, I dunno.

According to Lifetime's test, I will gain twenty nine thousand, eight hundred twenty five point seven pounds in fourty thousand years. It seems the trials of immortality are somewhat different from what Anne Rice would have us believe.

I'm tired . . . of all this stuff. I wish Richard and Cryptess were still around so I could give them more stuff. I wish Trisa was still speaking to me so I could give her stuff. I wish Tim's room wasn't already crammed with junk so I could give him stuff.

Let's see. I have yet to sort through three boxes and three garbage bags. I'm tempted to throw it off a pier.

I hope I'll end up with time for writing. I still haven't gotten a chance to watch Gangs of New York . . .

If anyone came by here earlier and noticed that none of my graphics were working, well it was because my graphics are hosted by BowieNet, and BowieNet was effected by that big blackout in New York. On msn, there was a photo of hundreds of regular commuters sleeping on the steps of the post office . . . See, that's the sort of thing that should be legal anyway.

I asked quiz . . . what kind of girl would I be?


Angry Girl


What kind of little girl were YOU?
brought to you by Quizilla

Started to-day reading Age of Innocence at Starbucks (this was 6:30am--horrifically early for me). I was feeling all good about the writing I'd done yesterday, and then Wharton made me feel all amatuerish. I barely restrained myself from doing something silly like rapidly slapping the table like a bongo when I read one particularly genius bit.

Not to be daunted, I set in to writing after two chapters of Age of Innocence. I think reading that a bit first helped me slow down and smell the roses with my own characters and situations--there's been a lot of action sequences in my tale lately, and this helped me reorient my narrative.

So it's just barely 10am now, and already I've written the entirety of chapter 74. Not too bad . . . I think I'll even write more to-day! Oo-da-lolly, I seem to be on a roll of sorts.

Started on chapter 73 yesterday and then, in the evening, I bought a copy of Gangs of New York for only thirteen dollars. Not bad, eh?

Last night I also watched the last two episodes of Fooly Cooly, aka FLCL, aka FuriKuri. It's a series that is enjoyable and rather zany and reminds me of something a teacher at college once told me about his thoughts on Anime. He said that all of it--all of it--is created primarily to teach young japanese boys how to deal with their sexual attraction to girls.

Now, I might take issue when it comes to something like Grave of the Fireflies or Princess Mononoke, but I'd certainly agree with him in the case of FLCL. I watched it with my friend Tim, and I was intrigued by the way he (and so many others) tends to overlook this rather garganutuanly blatant aspect of the show in favour of simply saying, "Wow, that show's so fucking bizarre--I don't get it, but it's good."

What's not to get about the growth in the young boy's head that he's embarrassed about, that appeared there after the frightingly unpredictable yet lovable sexy mystery girl on a motor cycle hit him with an electric guitar? Or what's really ambiguous about the scene where the boy's running through his house screaming whilst carrying his father's decapitated head? (I loved that scene).

All the reviews I've read this morning seem to fall over themselves talking about how astondingly impenetrable the series is. In my opinion, these folks are just afraid to see what is a little too obvious for their liking--This series strikes a sensitive chord in us sexually pathetic men (boys), and I say bravo.

Thirsty last night so I went out and bought a 2 liter bottle of Tropical Sprite Remix. Not having anything to pour into, I've been drinking it straight from the bottle. What does this say about me? If you think you know, then write to:

setsuled@davidbowie.com

...

Yesterday had some kind of bone caught in it's lungs. I spent a lot of time just driving around, first of all, continually looking for some place to write. I was weirdly picky . . . I finally settled on my aunt's Starbucks in Santee. There I wrote the entirety--from start to finish--of chapter 72. It is a pretty short chapter, particularly compared to 71.

Discovered that Sonic the cat has a wound on his neck . . . I found him in the garage sink. First I noticed all kinds of stickly sort of marrigold coloured sticky stuff on the left side of his neck. As I cleaned him off with wet paper towels (which, apparently, feels really good as it caused him to purr. I'd never heard that cat purr before), I found that under the mysterious junk was swollen, bare pink skin and two bloody holes.

They don't look like claw marks. I started thinking maybe he'd rubbed up against fly paper or something (accounting for the missing hair), but I'm starting to think it could be a bite wound as I spotted a coyote in the street later.

Both cats were energetic, getting into things in the house they weren't supposed to. I was feeling a little wacky myself, and I noticed at 1am that it was eighty degrees in the house.

So . . . yeah.

My face feels slow this morning. Facial expressions, I think, shall come only reluctantly. I think this must be what having botox must feel like, at least a little.

Sitting here listening to BowieNet Radio . . . Bowie DJs on channel two with random picks of his from the past fifty or so years. Really good stuff--This morning I've heard Ray Charles, Roxy Music, Stone Temple Pilots, Sonic Youth, Screamin' Jaw Hawkins . . . Such a nicely broad assortment.

I think I'll spend time in a coffee shop to-day, writing. Yesterday was mostly about typing things up . . .

I finished chapter 71 yesterday . . . Also went with Tim to check out an impossibly large, Atlantis-themed Fry's in San Marcos. It was big, it had an awful lot of fish for an electronics store, and it served a decent veggie sandwich.

To-day I believe I shall type stuff up.

Two nights ago, I had a Super Mario Brothers dream . . . but who doesn't now and then?

I am now hungry . . .

Thursday I saw an enormous alligator lizard, curled up outside the front door of my aunt and uncle's house. I prodded him once with the newspaper I was carrying and I wasn't sure if it provoked any movement--if it did, the movement was too subtle for me to see.

When I returned that night, I noticed first that the lizard was gone, and second that the screen door was slightly ajar. Opening it, I found that it had been made ajar by the body of the lizard, sitting on the threshold. THe lizard had opened the door!!

Really quite extraordinary, especially as he was apparently on the verge of death. For when I prodded him again, he again gave only a lacklustre reaction--merely crawling down off the threshold. And when I next saw him--Friday morning--he was covered with ants, and his eyes were gone.

He is there still.

...

I quite squandered Friday. Didn't do very much useful--first day in a while where I got no writing done. I went to Krispy Kreme for breakfast and saw a huge column of black smoke in the distance. Then I went to my grandmother's and watched both DVDs that I'd gotten on Thursday for only twenty bucks--Hollywood Video has a deal goin' for two previously viewed DVDs for twenty bucks. (heads up to anyone reading who might live near a Hollywood Video.)(I occassionally wonder; does anyone read my blog anymore?).

The movies I got; Ian McKellan's Richard III, which was interesting, and Ghost World, the watching of which was a heartbreaking experience (I suppose the nice thing about not having Trisa around is that I can be as meloncholy as I like and I won't have to worry about her calling me a whiney bitch).

Actually, I thought of Trisa while watching the movie--when Rebecca very strongly doesn't understand Enid's love for the complete dorkiness of Seymour, I was reminded of when Trisa had been sincerely disturbed by the fact that I knew that James Horner wrote the melody for My Heart Will Go On. The movie made me feel a little better about the possibility that I may be a hopeless geek.

I watched it with my Aunt, who didn't quite get it, I don't think. Afterwards, I tried to explain to her the meaning behind the title "Ghost World", but it was a futile task when she couldn't understand why the mediocre fifties diner was funny, or why Seymour and Enid felt unable to identify with 99% of the human race. But I sensed that she was giving it the old college try.

I think I shall sleep now. Good night.

Wanting to be lightyears away this morning, I settled for going to Plaza Camino Real mall, which is as far north as I regularly go on mall wanderings. Of course, now that distance seems like a pittiance.

That mall has the perfect coffee place for writing--true, their coffee is very bad, but the place is spacious, reasonably quiet, and not usually crowded. It even has a computer and a cosy little bar facing out at the mall thoroughfare. I spent about five hours writing there to-day. I almost came back too late to feed the cat.

At the moment, I'm at my grandmother's. And I've just finished a new page of Doll Merchant.

I amNyarlathotep! The 999 forms of Nyarlathotep are a point of meditation for the true initiate. It is through these manifold faces that the secrets of the universe are made known. Called "The Crawling Chaos", Nyarlathotep is the disembodied ego of Azathoth and thus the universal "I" of known reality. Some of the many documented forms are; Father of Knives, Nephren-Ka, the Black Man, the Beast of the Lashing Tongue to name a few.

Which Great Old One are you?

I would very much like to go back to sleep right now. but I can't . . . it's my sister's birthday and I have to be there to go and see Freaky Friday with her and my family.

Last Friday was my mother's birthday, and the Friday before that was Cryptess's. All Leos. I'm surrounded by lions.

Last night, I broke through a lazy haze to go and see Swimming Pool, a movie which was the kind of good that left me in a very good mood. Charlotte Rampling was very cool, and the other girl was very nude a lot of the time. And that was nice.

Macy the cat--who I'm cat-sitting (basically the whole reason that I'm housesitting)--gave me quite a scare by not coming in last night . . . I was very happy to see her this morning.

Here I am at aunt and uncle's again. Yay!

Yesterday was quite interesting. I left at around 10:30am for North County Fair Mall. And I stayed at North County Fair until 4pm. Was never bored once . . . I had two things to do, aside from eating and happy-idle mall wandering, that were sure to take up loads of time: I had my writing, and I had to find a birthday present for my sister.

And I didn't even end up finding something for my sister at that mall! I did write a very peculiar short story, though. Not a small one either--in a very nice journal book that Cryptess gave me for my birthday, I sat down and wrote the entire thing from start to finish.

After the mall, I travelled south and stopped at a Barnes and Noble in Carmel mountain and purchased for my sister Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales. She remembers Chaucer from A Knight's Tale starring Heath Leager and, as I remembered her mentioning the other day that she wants to name her next dog Chaucer, I decided to see if I could spark an interest in her for the man himself. I'm always hoping.

I next travelled further south, and for some reason went into the Barnes and Noble in Mira Mesa, where I didn't buy anything.

And finally I went to Parkway Plaza, where in the Border's I saw one of Trisa's old friends who, she'd told me, is scared of me. I thought about this, and about the fact that Trisa now thinks I'm crazy, and I began to wonder if I might be a Super Villain. Hey, an outcast has perfectly the right to romanticise his position, don't he? You know, in spite of superficial prevailing sensibilities, few people ever actually love a lad insane.

Ugh. I gots to stop thinking about that.

Until 9pm, I sat down at the mall's Starbucks and read Age of Innocence, which is such an insightful and wonderful book about human nature. I think it's actually very, very relivant to-day, in spite of being about late 19th century society in New York.

At nine, I went to Tims, and thus concluded the day's adventures. What shall happen to-day, I wonder?

Well, I'm out of here once again. Housesitting at my aunt's and uncle's, once again. Just how did I get roped into this gig so many times? It seems they asked me to housesit for them once and now, forever after, they pull it out to say, "Remember? You've already agreed to this. We've discussed it, see?"

So next I post I here, I shall be there.

Everyone thinks I'm supposed to be going to Phoenix to-day because I didn't feel like sharing with my nosy, gossipy family, "Trisa and I no longer speak and so, naturally, we're not gonna see Tori Amos together." So to-day I have to pretend I'm in Phoenix. I guess I'll go to the mall . . .

Here's one of the things I was talking about . . . it's from an old, old sketch book;



And here's something else from that sketchbook.

Trying to do something with all my things . . . wading through innumerable trash bags I'd hastily filled with my possessions of the past twenty years I'm finding a lot of very surprising and interesting things. I'll probably post a few here later, when I have a chance.

Looks like the stuff may end up being more manageable than I had thought. Which is good. But I still haven't found my note book. Which pisses me off as I very much wanted it to-day.

...

Yesterday I went to my cousin Jared's 21st birthday party. I'm not sure why I went--I don't really know Jared very well. Seems like I only became aware of his existence a few years ago.

I ran into my cousin Christa there, with whom I sort of grew up with. Hadn't seen her for a while, and we got to chatting about movies and stuff. We were chatting when Jared announced that his sixteen year old girlfriend, Crystal, sitting next to him, was pregnant.

Crystal looks like . . . well, like a baby. She's one of those especially young looking younglings. Jared is the kind of guy who seems like his personality probably hasn't changed significantly since age five.

Christa immediately started asking me, "Are they serious? Is this a joke? It seems like a joke."

Now I think I know from jokes, and this was no joke. Not judging from the manner in which all of my older relations, in their nattering little clusters, pronounced that the young lady really ought to get an abortion.

Maybe it was because I didn't quite disagree with them that I felt especially bad for the kids. Before leaving I shook Jared's hand and congratulated him on his birthday and "the impending one."

Did I mention that my life's been a weird collage lately?

The girl at Starbucks put cinnamon in my tazo chai, and I didn't even ask. How nice . . . it'll be awkward to thank her for it later, though.

I saw Pirates of the Carribean for the second time last night. Not as good on second viewing, but still good. Lots of little holes.

I can't seem to find my notebook . . . I'm sure it'll turn up. Probably floundering amongst all the stuff making its exodus from my biological father's house.

Still haven't gotten over Trisa. It sticks out in my mind that she did not seem remotely sorry to be rid of me. As if I'd never meant anything to her.

And it looks like Tim's sister is out of prison. Last night I heard her screaming at her parents in the upstair's at Tim's house. I wonder what's going to happen to her?

I just wonder these days; what's gonna happen?

It seems like shit has been rather persistently and even rhythmically hitting the fan ever since I got back from Seattle. It's like my absence has made so many people realise how much better life is when I'm not around. Well, nuts to them, really. They can just go fuck themselves, la la di da, I say. No sir, I ain't gonna let it get me down, nyah huh.

(frell, I think I've caught Richard's cough).

To-day's offender was my biological father, Ted, who'd made an appointment with me on Wednesday night to discuss something with me "in private" on Thursday night (Wednesday, his girlfriend Patty was home and anyway he was drunk).

Turns out, he'd needed privacy in order to tell me that he's realised that I'm nothing more than a lazy bum and that I had to get all my stuff out of his house.

That's the gist of a conversation that involved him asking me, "Do you think you can really live life without a paying job?" to which I'd replied, "Yeah, at the moment, I apparently can," which'd stumped him for a moment. The bastard evidently has forgotten or has gone back on his agreement with me that I could stay there so long as I had a job or was going to school. It suddenly didn't seem logical to him that I should quit my part time job--which was only a distraction--and take eleven units of classes at college. Although the hardest part, of course, is justifying to him the validity of making time for my writing and other artistic pursuits which are not currently yielding profit. I told him that for one thing it was spiritually rewarding, which he of course took as absolute bull. Gods . . . It seems some people are so fucking concerned with how to live that they forget that some of us need to find a reason to live.

I had to smile when he got to the part of his argument where he insisted that the fact that I was male made it especially important that I not live off the generosity of my grandmothers. Oy vey.

Of course, I pointed out the flaws in all his weird little argument (it's no hardship for my grandmother to let me stay under her roof, especially as I help her out with some chores), so in the end he was reduced to justifying his argument with "that's how life is". And then he started physically shoving me around the kitchen. What a fucking neanderthal.

I guess the weirdest part, though, was that he began the conversation with, "So I hear you haven't been brushing your teeth."

The implications of this statement were so bizarre and troubling that it took me a moment to respond. "First of all, I have been brushing my teeth. Second of all, on whose authority do you make this accusation?" Just who is it that he's been talking to who thinks they can make such a pronouncement regarding my hygiene, and yet have made an inaccurate pronouncement? Sometimes I think I should be more paranoid.

"It's just something I heard," he said, unwilling to identify his informant.

...

I feel I should mention here that Tim's sister's now in jail. I feel awful for that girl. She's made such a colossal amount of varied mistakes.

...

And finally, I got a good start on chapter 71, which looks like it's going to be a very long chapter. I'm starting to feel a little self-conscious about my ability to create three dimensional characters . . .