Below are the 9 most recent journal entries recorded in bvs' LiveJournal:

Saturday, February 12th, 2005
10:01 pm	one of those lines Everyone always said life was funny. Not in a haha sort of way, more in a "who would have thought" kind of way. Like, you feel your life is a waste and you feel unmotivated and you wish you had more ambition and etc., and you read books and mildly try to figure out your current situation and, as it just so happens, reading a few lines in some girls myspace can pull you slightly up out of the rut, dust you off and give you some sort of motivation, whatever it may be at this point. It's not even a concious point yet, but I do know that whatever evil thoughts of drop kicking those motherfuckers that whatevered last night or the week before (the timeline doestn matter), I harbor no feelings for them. IT's so unimportant, it's important. It's such a nonissure irts an issure throw it off. The main thing about this girls writing is that, when I relate myself to it, I am able to seperate myself from whatever it is I need to in order to move forward. maybe moving forward just feels like a rut because it's moving reaal slow. Obviously things are always changing (shit you'd think I'd be more used to change by now), It'd be great. Fucking writers block has ,me writing meaningless (in the truested sense of the word) dribble. apparently she's not as motivating as I'd hoped. Oh well. It was a nice 15 minutes. Back to square one No matter how much I wantt o meet new people, I'm continually reminded of how much I don't like people. And I mean that in a very real way. I had more fun when I was just the outsider screwing shit up. But I've "matured" too much for that, and I think I'm having a hard time witht his newfound shutupedness. I've failed to balance out new mellow me with the free bird thumbkin I was. I dont know which one is better (and I suppose it doesnt matter becuase any attempt to get back to that beforetime will be false and forced) and moving forward is completely unpredictable. All I can do is read some books and educate and travel I guess. Those are just things I want to do. No matter how confused I may be, I know one thing for sure, and that's that the doors are rad. When do you know when you have a real reason to be discontent? man, doubt is a powerful force in the back of my mind. I want to go see the gates in NYC central park, man this is weak. I don't want to write this grabbe boobble squibble. what the fuck am I writing? this isn't me. I'm totally not happy with this arrangement. I need to find a way to be happy and productive and content, There's something wrong. I know it has to do with ambition and knowing myself and emotions and doubt (lots of doubt) and feelin inadquate. Yeah, It's time for some things to happen. I used to be a leader. Somehow I've changed into a follower (of sorts, nobody's 100% of anything). I need some more reckless abandon. I liked it better before I felt a need for companionship. I felt like a fucking gladiator against society, now I want to be accepted and loved and it feels like the boats taking it's time coming to dock. No matter how you were, whether you were a vanguard with a subversive attitude or a nun, these feelings persist in all human beings, I hope. Because being alone on this boat would be horrible (and very little art would be created). What the fuck am I looking for and what do I expect to find? doesn it matter? I feel like if I didn't ask these questions and just moved, I'd find the answers. That makes sense. or maybe it's just another cop out. I got plenty of those these days. And I actually tried to prove myself last night. God damn I dont want to be a lackey. I gotta figure this out. Current Mood: shitttty Current Music: minus the bear (Comment on this)
Saturday, January 29th, 2005
7:02 pm	good shit. there ain't no point in tryin to be a fucking literary genius when it doesn't feel right. There are few things I can be proud of these days, and if there's one thing I want to be on that list, it's writing. So, in lamens terms, I woke up to the sun full force shining brightly in my eyes. Imagine the strongest light bulb you've ever seen, multiply it by a thousand and put 100% visibility into the mix and you'd swear you were in a detectives office in south beach. At least it felt that way. It ws great wakin up, It was like I was finally experiencing what college was supposed to be. You were supposed to go out, have a good time, and not have to go home. You can go where you want and you can have some good people to hang out with. There were some great characters at the party, and I'm glad to have met them. Jack from south Jersey was a nutball that was engaging and interesting. His girlfriend, Jessica, was a great example of what a Jersey girl can be: Blunt as hell, but nice as well. She was kurt in asking me things, but at the same time she wasn't judging or anything. She was just being her. Then there was Sam, the kid I had only heard about up until last night. Man, he was the most personable motherfucker I ever met. After talkin to him for a while, I was glad to have met him, and was ever happier to find out the he was the Sam and that I was going on a four day biking trip with him once spring break rolls around. Knowing that made me even more amped about the Journey. The only thing that can make a great journey better is good people to go on it with. We're going to start out in Philly and ride out of the city and into the unknown. Who knows, maybe we'll build a hut and live in it for a good while. Anything feels possible. So, I talked to various girls but there wasn't one that was really giving a shit about what I was. Well, I talked to a girl about photography, which was rad, but the trouble was, she was in a program she didn't fit into and, to top it off, I'm in a program that she would fit into and I hate it. She wants to learn studio ligthing and i want to fuck around with conceptual shit. It's funny where you'll find what you want. I hope she's not snobby or anything and sees a good thing that suits her just fine. I also talked to some other girl but she was less interesting, more attitude, and too goddamed moody. Boringest thing I ever talked to. I couldn't stop laughing at half the shit she said cause that was the best way to react to her outlandishly boring personality. she didn't take kindly tot his and threw out the "boyfriend" name drop, like it mattered, and blabbity blah not worth going further into. Everytime i see John Ryan, it's like I'm in some fucking movie where everyone's happy or having a good time and everything's alright, even when it's not. It's great bein around the kid and it's the first time I've seriously missed anyone. Good thing he's not that far away. I'm lookin forward to leaving the Sex for the Gross, cause god knows I don't belong at Sex. It's such a bummed place, I can't take the atmosphere and bullshit classes that are filled with kids I don't relate to. I think I'm better off this semester than last, in some aspects, but the fact remains, the one subjectI should be thrilled over, photography, is the biggest bummer of them all. The person that teaches me is a relic of a man that, despite scientific proof and obvious common senseical knowledge, insists on having class at 8:00 AM in the fucking morning. As if to assume that ANYONE will be awake for that. It's foolish to meet at a time when people will not mentally be there. He's an old ox that has nonsensical rules such as no jackets on the enlarging tables and ABSOLUTELY NO FOOD ANYWHERE I WILL THROW YOUR COFFEE IN THE GARBAGE AND I MEAN IT, among others. The guys a real control gimp, I can't get along with him. I'd rather just do his lame assignments, hand them in, and not show up to class. And the motherfucker insists that we use our books in class. For photo. It's mindbending, that he'd require this. I just don't see the need for making these things rules. If we need our books, we'll consult them. For gods sake, required reading for photo class? get fucking real, it's just unreasonable. If I need information I'll look it up, leave that up to me. I see teachers more as guides, less as authoritarian dictators that have about as much flexability as a beaurcratic system. I figure, the guy is there at my disposal (office hours permitting) and, if I need anything I can go to him for help. Though, he sees himself as some sort of enforcer of the law, making sure an apple goes uneaten near the photo lab. which brings me to my next point: If you're stupid enough to eat anything without washing the photo chemicals off of your hands, then you deserve whatever ailment comes your way. You may as well just drink the dektol straight up and forget about having kids. On an aside, as I lay to sleep last night in Anna's bed, I couldn't help but notice the tapping and clicking of the keyboard that her roommate was banging on. Out of curiosity i looked over at what she was doing and she was looking at the delias website. 3 hours passed and she was looking at the delias website. Internet shopping is that fun? how many times cna you say "that'd look cute on me!" before you want to do something else? I want my scarf back. I need to go over to veganchic's house and get it. I dontwanna. when I was driving home I had this feeling that I could do anything I wanted. I had a taste for freedom and I didn't want to ruin it by going home. Then i went home and tried to go hang out with my friend, but he wasn't down and i eneded up spending the day inside. I think I'm socially starved, I need to get out more. It's not good being a shut in, a guy needs action and livelyhood more frequently than 8 times a year. I seriously need to think of things to do. Either that or knock myself out cold for a few weeks. either one. Feeling good and alive is a possible thing and, it's very necessary to survival. At least of my sanity. good shit. Current Mood: not as good as this morning Current Music: Mike Bruno (Comment on this)
Sunday, January 9th, 2005
7:58 pm	The best music ever post any comments about http://purevolume.com/noiseghost here. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 14th, 2004
10:17 pm	I want to capture my child hood in images adn words and immerse myself in the beauty of my innocence. What I have now, all the vices in my life, whatever they are, they're all compensations trying to get me back to when i was a little kid. I want the wonder of the opposite sex, the wonder of a day out in the sun while all the other kids are in school, thinking that i could get arrested or in trouble for not being in school. Playing with my bunny rabbit and trying to get him to jump over my lego boxes. Painting a picture or drawing on a piece fo paper. Writing little stories to keep my mind moving. It's the wonder that is missing. where's the wonder of it all? A recent problem is concerning myself with other people. It makes me unhappy trying to be anything im not. Whenever I move back to the state of mind that makes me feel alright, i end up making a friend and making a few enemies, though I'm one of those people. A person is either going to love me or hate me. I need to keep my younger years in the background of my conciousness, it helps with perspective. I was the kid that yelled "I feel like chicked tonight! I fee like chicken tonight! bite bite bite" at the top of my lungs. I wrote silly poems and excluded sense from my writtings. I was afraid of ghosts and the things beind the curtain or at the end of my bed. I didn't have bone of seriousness in my body. I want that back, and I want it engrained in me. That which is forced doesn't work. Just let me be a square peg in a square hole, the circle isn't meeting the measurements. Hell, who doesn't want this? Who wants to trade in their childhood for the vices of adulthood? I suppose that things such as love and passion make up for childish wonder and the world of stream of conciousness and other nonsensical things takes hold of the natural nonsense that I had when I was a kid. Let nostalgia take hold for a few minutes every now and then. (Comment on this)
Friday, November 26th, 2004
11:40 pm	shit kickers When I was the ripe age of six or seven or whatever, I was in a time of transition. I can distinctly remember feeling as if I needed attention, as if the spotlight had to be on me, all of the time. I remember my remedy for not getting the attention I wanted: talk a lot. I would say every little thing that popped into my head. In retrospect, the idea of speaking constantly as my remedy evolved from the following moment. I was sitting in the family room, watching a show with my mom and siblings, when something happened; I commented on the TV program we were watching and everyone laughed at what I said. Not knowing why they laughed but knowing that they laughed at what I had said, I then attempted to re-create that moment of triumph by engaging in a hit or miss campaign where I blitzkreiged the house with a constant barrage of unwitty, generally stupid things (i.e. anything that popped into my head). Needless to say, this did not work in my favor. One day, I was dribbling off on some tangent, when my brother said to me, "shut up you chatter box!!" Obviously, I wasn't getting the response I wanted from my family. Being the soul searcher that I was, I wondered why I couldn't get the response that I desired, and I happened upon an interesting answer. What I figured was this: when I came up with that genius remark regarding the television and my family laughed and enjoyed it, it was because my reaction was genuine and was coming from somewhere that was witty and clever. However, when I tried to re-create that situation, I was forcing things out of me that were neither funny nor clever: they were merly dull thoughts that I figured were as good as any. Now, that is where I made my mistake: I figured that one thought was as good as another and that they would all garner the same response. I was dead wrong. All thoughts are not created equally and the response to them varies depending on their subject and context (along with substant). Once I stopped trying to be funny and merely let myself be, I was surprisingly funny again. Once I stopped trying to force the magic that comes naturally, it came back to me in full force. The ironic part is, once you stop caring and just focus (or unfocus) on being, then you naturally become best at what you are naturally best at. You fall back on your default traits, that which suit you best, that which you are naturally inclined to, and are relieved of the horrid duties of forced characterisitcs. By setting yourself free from a prison of ill-fitted traits, you are embracing the natural order for which your mind is made. You are engaging in a form of equilibrium, allowing you to merely be. Once you are able to do this, you can check one more obstacle off of your shit list that is life. I can honestly say that I have met more people than I can think of that have been faced with this bothersome problem. The kicker is, not everyone can face this beast off and beat it mercilessly. there are those that conquer their ill-fitted roles and there are thsoe that can't figure out how to solve the problem. My suggestion is to throw away your poorly-concieved notions of who you are and what you are supposed to be like, and embrace who you are. It's easy: stop trying and be. And when you catch yourself slipping back into those proven patterns, stop yourself from going down that familiar road of rigid acting. Forget the beaten path, it's for the weak of mind and faint of heart. Current Mood: defiant Current Music: go to sleep (Comment on this)
Thursday, November 25th, 2004
9:36 pm	fuck what I know and fuck what I think! You ever stare at screens for hours, then stop and not know what to do. you walk aimless around the house like a rat in a cage. You have the freedom but not the movitvation to do anything, and it feels liek your trapped. It's all in your head, maybe. maybe it's conditoning, to feel this way. It's horrible, being aimless. like a bee underwater. who knows if that's true or not, it's irrelevent anyway. don't proof read: abosrb. Yes, I walk around my house and yes, I'm lost without the screen. I'm even loking at a screen as I write this. In a way, I am a mental slave to screens. am I ready to Emancipate myself? This culture is in a battle for the mind. We are bein bombarded by ads and propaganda all the time, and we are denied the substances that cloud our perceptions to keep us focused on being aimless when we are without the almighty tele-eyes. I would like to retain, or rather, find myself. I need to break from this cage of the mind and explore a world more glorious and wonderful than any image on the television. I doubt this scenario, and it keeps me from acting. perhaps that's a part of the symtoms: denial, in order to stay controlled and safe. It's a possibility, though an unproveable one (at least from my vantage point). I suppose what needs to be done is, I need to find, or create, the motivation needed to do what i have to. I need to invent the sustanance that my heart craves in order to be productive and useful. whenever I feel aimless, I need to invent, create, produce, do something, that will make me feel like a tree in the ground and less like a leaf in the wind. The time has come for me to learn the art of self-mastery, and to gain all the self-knowledge I can in order to fight off the homogenization of the self that the world desires for me. To retain your individuality, you must be concious of what makes you an individual. If it remains subconcious, then it is not safeguarded and is subject to change by subconcious propaganda that attacks the self at it's root. With this all said, I'm going to go do what I have to and am going to quit complaining about that which needs to get done. Suck it up and shut up: enjoy it. Current Mood: fuck Current Music: silence mixed with a ceiling fan (Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 24th, 2004
9:59 pm	the stigmata of thinking Yes, I suppose some are more gifted with words than others. some of those Dada people were as sharp as they come. I guess underneatht he pretend is always a weak and shivering, slave, i suppose. it would be nice to be better at music. I play the drums as if they are a lead insstrument. The idea of the drums being a 2nd rate instrument doesnt sit well with me, and i try and compensate by... playing them with lots of fills. I havent played in a while. some things just dont sound like me. I type one thing then erase it because it doesnt suit me, or my image of me at least. once my bandage smells ike split pea soup, it's time to change the band-aids. a bit of moisture and its as fine as a fox. I do believe i hate MCC. It's the most deplorable places on the planet. I saw the fat russian girl get out of a US. GVT. van today... It hink she's ex-KGB. More on that as things develope. Apparently, due to the fact that I show up 30 minutes late to photo class everytime, I miss the lectures and pep talks from my professor. Whenever I get there he asks me some question, I guess to make up for my absence, but they're as important or memorable as small talk. and it sure as hell isn't as long. They get a 20 minutes lecture, I get a question with passing interest. I can only say that my tardiness is paying for itself. Hell, it's the teachers fault anyway: the first day of class he shows up late, declars class beigns at 8:15, but doesnt stick to it himself. that was a verbal contract, damn it! My video editing equipment is in the hands of Kevin. That bastard had better return it, or I shall fuck him up... if I ever find out where he lives. God damn it I want to make a movie! A love interest! ha! It's almost sad that I'd have one... I don't know why. I guess because it feels doomed to end before ti begins. Which is worse than it actually beggingin and having some sort of fun out of the whole deal. Instead I get sweet hello's that I take for more than they are, knee's against mine while looking at horrible articles, and empty fantasy's of far away places. the sad part isn't the fact that I have a love interest, it's the my assumption that it will never accumulate into anything but an interest. I've already prepared myself for defeat and nothing has even happened. With that mentality, I will never get anywhere (unless she has the will of a tiger). Honestly, I'm due for some lovin'... Whenever I'm out being me, I think of how great I am and how I should make a movie about ym everyday life. It'd be great and all of the humor would be situational. I'm not conveying this idea well at all... aie. My compulsions rears its ugly head. I love Jon Brion's music and when I saw that he did a new soundtrack, I decided to just buy it. I Hear Huckabee's jhas one fuck of a sound track. That's my review, send it to the presses. They say lose 8 Lb's. The grand prize: I dunno, mom didnt say yet. The motive: beat my siblings at something (and get grand prize). The date: 25th of december. READYSETGO!@ QWERTYU = first e-mail message ever. freakin awesome im putting my nights life int he hands of a potential KGB agent (different from afformentioned KGB agent). My life must be in my hands... or else. apparently my mind refuses to move or go against my will so therefore i must give in the towel and watch television, the bringer of bad dreams and false truthes. It's the tube that lassts the longest, unlike crest or mouthwash. It's the boob that smells the freshest adn the tit that teets the milk into your teeth. My life ends and begins by the television, which contains the truth in small doses, as to not upset your stomache. It contains even more fluezno than any other TV product on the market. Furhtermore, if you add up all the channels, you get a prime number thaat can be divided by itself, 1, AND 2. The telvision tells me whats true and whats not. It tells me what is going on in bosnia where children eat corn and try opium at the age of 8 beacause it's a good source of opiates. what I and my bosnian friends need is a forum for true communication, not the internet, that allows us to exchange meal plans for the nearest university dorm room. Also, we could surf web pages until one of us wipes out or a shark bites our hand off. though that shouldnt stop us from surfing the big kahuna in the big surf off. It's the millenium and we're all uptight about gays and civil libertarians. Who gives a rats ass about rats ass? To some degreee, we're in a bad spot, but when aren't we? we're doomed to fuck this planet and in turn it will fuck us. It's our lifeline, we kill it, it kills the whales, beavers, homosapiens, and blue tailed ostriches. the first corrolatino between homosexual and hmomosapien is inclusive. I write all about it in my new book "what you need to know to make it out of here alive, though this book won't tell you about that". In conclusion, my book will span five cneturies adn will cotnain the hyrogliphics fo a generatrion unbeknowest to me. they're rocketships and pyramids will amaze and astound even the most knowledgeable of astrphysinots. If you're hair catches on fire after the use of my new book, please smahs your face into the nears pane of glass, and don't worry, it's candy glass! hmm mmm eat up! nooooo not you little bosnia, save some for the apartheid. Everyone knows that what is bad is always bad and what is good is always good. Oh wait.... Well, the laws of society are mere guidelines and they are not to be taken so literally. Who cares what has been done in the past, we need to take care of our shit now, damnnn it! we all need to fine tune our Bullshit Detector so we waste less time on throwing pearls to swine. just let your natural radar pick ti up and tell you "fuck that guy! his voice rings true of fals words" and move onto something more forgiving. the word giving is splendid, for it's full of wander, gander, and grandeur. and uses. It's a word that smells of baskin ridge prophecy high school, chock full of water, watered down with orange drink. And juice newton was a wonder in her day, singing like a frog with no wings, therefore it didn't bump its ass when it hopped. And we wonder where police academy went: it's on TV! the bringer of joy, lights, camera action, set the shot lets go! we dont have all day here people! put people first! come on! on the set! the music stopped and I'm all out of steam. Current Mood: somewhere between inspired and apathetic... Current Music: jon fucking brion (Comment on this)
Monday, October 18th, 2004
1:12 am	work and sex How do you balance realism and ideals? How do you feel excitement and adventure and how do you get that voice in your head saying "you're jsut out driving at night" to shut the fuck up. The stars are out too, and the lighting is dense, as is the foliage though it's getting thinner, and so is my skull if I'm thinking it's nothing special. Why do I have to force the thoughts of adventure and the feeling of excitement. Why can't I feel that idealism? And I don't want to say she killed it, though I can't make up fantasy girls when I try to. I got so used to using her as my fantasy, that I lost the ability to create. I can't see curves and features unless I'm dreaming or having it fed to me through memories or video. In that sense, a part of my creativity has died. I have to rely on images to get me by. It's horrible, because once i can get a glimpse of what I could once do, I can't help but want to go back to before I met her and before it all got ruined. Maybe it just died with my adolesence. Maybe this is like Holden's dillhema where he's trying to stay where he can't... but can't I keep a little bit of it? I thought i would have more than this, because it seems like so much more, but it's not. It doesn't really matter, whetehr his points are right or not, it's sucks not being acknoledged for the nice things you do, however it makes those nice things sour when you throw them in the person face. I'm just not an appreciative person I guess... But are we really counting these little things? I've done bigger things, does that make you wrong or me right? Should any of this matter at all anyway? If asked nicely, I wouldn've gotten a lot of stuff anyway... I'm lost on this one, though I doubt me being right would change anyone's feelings about the whole matter. I wanna be a poet for crying out loud. I can. And I don't mean rhyming exclusiely, I man the whole shabang. I'm afraid my best is the worst by most standards. I don't like that. And I certainly don't like bing thought of as a jerk by friends. It feels bad. Maybe I should jsut give it up entirely and be an asshole. That would solve nothing, except the having friends "problem". I wish I could be more excited. Maybe being cool about these things is... cool. Is that cool? . I guess. All I can do is guess. I can either guess, or follow someone else's way. Being considerate is probably a good thign to be. I'm not that. I'm selfish. But am I any more selfish than anyone else? Do I cant to be judged as anyone else? no. So, I need to try and be less selfish. It means monitoring my own behavior and making changes. Every now and then someone brings aomething to my attention, and thats when I reassess myself. This was hardly poetic or insightful. Current Mood: tired Current Music: dylan speaking in his sleep (Comment on this)
Wednesday, September 29th, 2004
11:45 pm	Striking up the band tonight. So the kids forced themselves to dance and flail their arms. It reminds me of a scene in Brave New World where they go to the socailly acceptable place to get out their rage because expressing your rage is necessary to a healthy person. Except, people go to these shows and just themselves to spaz out because they either want to fit in or stand out. I watch them swing their arms and pretend to hit the ground and each other. Dancing like that is supposed to be inspired by good music, not the need to be thought of as cool by strangers. Also, they limit themselves to what's been socially tested and what will be accepted. Kids two step, do gymanastics, etc. because people won't make fun of them. However, if they actaully feel the music and just spaz out and shit, they will get made fun of and laughed at. They are afraid of this. You can tell who's faking it, too, because you can see it in their self-concious glances at the border of girls and guys putting their hands out to block the insecure riot. Why is seeing a nipple such a cool thing? So everyone is dropping out of art school (read: three people I know) and it makes me wonder if that's going to be me. Am I going to give up and say "man, art school is bullshit. Why the fuck would I want to do this shit? it's a waste of time, I should do something more important. maybe i could be a teacher or a rocket scientist." I never gave much thought to my future any further than a week ahead of time. I always figured I would go wtih what feels right and with what comes naturally. I love to do art, I love the idea of making art and the way it makes you view the world in a more interesting way, however, whether or not I can handle the demands of a BFA at art school is yet to be seen. I'd say I could do it, but the question is whether or not it's what I want to do. I wanted nothing more than to go to Mason Gross (I still do), however. all of these people having changes of heart is disheartening me. I now wonder if I'll be like that, following in their footsteps. I'm sure they went into art school thinking that it was going to be great. I can always change my direction if I don't like where I'm going. It is indeed midnight and I am indeed tired. I learned of Picasso's genius today and he was incredible. It inspired me to think more about why I do what I do. Art school will help me develope this ability to think in concrete and abstract at the same time, all the while keeping a thesis in mind and working it out. tis what I want. tis what I will do. Current Mood: tired Current Music: thoughtless bum, says I!? (Comment on this)