.now turn on.

okay,
here it is
me being tired of being stoic
tired of pretending it's all okay
i'm so sick and tired of being sick and tired
to use an old saying.

i'm on this island.
will all sorts of ways of
coming
and going.
and millions of people.

i have no friends.
i have a job
(not even a job)
that has a great name
and i
essentially
fucking hate it.

i'm a shell at work.
i'm a shell when i get home.
i'm always tired
and i have nothing to say

but i'm tired of playing devil's advocate
in my own life.

there are a million things to do in this city.
but when you're miserable
and alone
you don't want to do a single one.
you want to curl up in bed and cry.
but then you'll feel bad about crying.
there i go again, playing both sides.

my friends don't call me.
god forbid they move beyond the computer screen.
and the ones that do, they don't want to hear this crap.

so many miserable people just want to give up and die.

i just want to live.

i've been alive 22 years and sometimes I feel like I haven't lived a single day of my life.

.it's up to me.

in this blog
subtitled: life vs. MTA

today

the MTA won.

.somehow i'm not impressed.

dear dan deacon:

go away

forever!

-me

.i know you've supported me for a long time.

Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad
is speaking at
Columbia
which people think is a mistake
he's allowed to.
should universities only have
speakers
who are liberal or butt buddies to Bush?

Columbia's Public Affairs dean
John Coatsworth
said he'd invite Hilter to
engage in
debate.

a debate is, oddly enough
you idiots
a count-counterpoint.
that means one person has one opinion
the other person has the opposite.
a debate is not an
agreement.

Hilter thought the slaughtering of Jews and gays and others
was
just okay in his book.
Ahmadinejad didn't think it happened.

I disagree with both.
I'd be open to a debate.

.and the pavements, they are a mess.

i went to central park
the gardens by 106th
and they're cute
and i was walking uphill
when, in a second,
it started to pour.

i stood under a tree.
with some runners
but who knew when it would end.
so kept walking
up the dirt mounds.

and getting some great photos.

and the rain let up.
and then it didn't - it started again.

so i stood there at the mount sinai
nursing building.
getting dry.
then i gave up.
and walked and walked in the rain
(no,
it was only 6 blocks)

and i was soaked.
but i got some great photos.

.a porno.

so there's this
guy
animal
thing
who lives across the street
and stands outside
and makes that
about-to-hock-a-loogie
noise every 30 minutes
and i have the windows
open
because it's
nice
outside.
dear guy, animal, thing: stop it.
if i hear it
one more time
i will vomit
and lean out the window
and it will land on you.
so,
for the sack of all
stop it.

.subway she is.

finally, comes me
complaining
about the price of things
in this city.
this island.
this capital of capital.

what's the point
of everything being so
expensive?

a six dollar coffee.
a fifteen dollar cocktail.

it's creating an island
of elitism.
a place only a
few
can play and scoff at everyone
else.

(and don't be naive enough to think it isn't happening in the bronx or brooklyn or queens - as for staten island...where is that again?)

isolated from the real world.
i've seen it.
in action.
the social circles.
unaware of the
poverty
and heartache
of other places.
not saying one should walk around
sad
and crying.
but just realizing there is more to life
than
parties
and socializing.
and climbing that proverbal ladder.

these page 6 people
these new york social diary people
drive these costs up.
they pay the six dollars for coffee.
they pay the fifteen for a cocktail.
so nothing changes.
the prices just go up.

when a studio apartment costs $2,400 a month.
there is something wrong.
there shouldn't just be a cap on these things
for people who can't afford it
but for those who need a reality check.

maybe we'll be lucky enough
to go back in time
and scream
"greed is good"
i can't wait for that new york to come back.

.fly down to mexico.

rant?
so, living in manhattan, i've seen a few famous people or at least people who think they're famous and really just know for something stupid like being on America's Next Top Model. big success...weeee.

anyways, earlier this week i was walking next to Famke Janssen and her boston terrior (which was soooooo cute and really much more interesting). i loved her in eulogy but i sorta felt awful because here i am, like worn and tired from a long day at work and a size 10 and she's walking next to me thin and beautiful and twice my age. and she's walking her dog! not fair famous beautiful people!
actors and actress should only look good on screen but be normal people when you see them in real life.
no, they're beautiful in real life too. not fair. some of us are normal and...yeah.

and last night i was at a party with Rosario Dawson (i know, me! come on!) and she's so fucking pretty it made me sick. no. no. no. don't be beautiful, be average. it's not fair.
damn them!

so stop being beautiful. because, it makes me look bad.
(if you didn't get the irony in that last sentence, you shouldn't be reading this)

.in my life.

i saw the
sadest
thing the other day
on the
yes
subway....
a young
thin
nervous-looking woman
got on.
she had bruises
all over her arms
like someone
grabbed
her.
and looked like she had been pushed around a bit in her life.
she was reading
a romance novel.
falling into it.
falling in love with it.
and i thought that was so
sad.

.change.

i'm also
admittedly
scared
of next tuesday.
i know
nothing
will happen.
but i'm still...
nervous would be the best word.

.got to be some more.

from my moleskin,
written the other day,
during the
switchboard problem:

"of all the things
in
the world, i
wish
i wasn't
stuck
on the
C train
under the east river."

for the 30 minutes,
under water.
on the day i was already
late
and took
the wrong
train,
because i was late.