February 2007

We’re not sentimental we’re just oil filled machines

Via Slashdot: This is incredible.

More here.


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Whether far or soon

As a freshman in high school, we read A Separate Peace. One of the few lessons I learned from that book is that separate is spelled with one E and two A’s. Pretty sure everyone in the class fucked that one up on the essay despite it being open book (yeah, I know…). Nobody got higher than a B+.

It’s been one of those days. Sliced my finger on a can top. First time ever. Growing up, I was always told that they’re so sharp, but it never happened. I’m trying to clean the kitchen tonight, and oops. Maybe it’ll leave a cool scar. I could use a few more scars… I’m a glutton for pain.


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I’m ringing all the warning bells…

My buddy Dan and I have decided to start training together. Which shall be tough, given that we are on opposite sides of the planet. To that end, a training blog. Neither of us are very good at maintaining fitness currently, so we’re hoping this will help and be funny along the way.


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Always the first star that I find

I don’t have much to say, but I really want to at least say something. Guster comes up on wednesday, and it can’t get here soon enough.

I keep on turning the situations around in my head. What have I done wrong? Should I be doing what I’m doing now? Where do I go from here?

It’s a strange thing to have all these I questions. I lost another piece of me, and now it’s as though… I don’t have to find myself all over again, and I don’t have to learn how to make myself happy again, but I need to find the kind of friendships that I’ve had throughout the years. It’s odd, they come one at a time, these people I can trust with anything. And when they’re gone, when there’s no one to talk to… I realize that I can only live on my own without anyone else for only a short time before the pain sinks in.  I’m always planning for tomorrow… maybe that’s why I hurt so much when things gloriously blow up in my face (or slowly fizzle and fade away into a scar)… I see a future and it’s a future that’ll never exist and it tears me to pieces.

When I was 18, I once left a girl at the airport gate and never looked back. I still have no idea if that was the right thing to do.

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It’s just me and I’ll find a way

You can try to say you’ve changed. You can say it, you can believe it, but the simple fact of the matter is that you haven’t.

I thought a gushing of words would spew forth. I haven’t written in forever. But I’m still afraid that my words are, I guess, being twisted by my mind to hurt someone. Or that they are too self-reflective. After all, it’s probably boring to hear about someone else. Especially me. At least, that’s the worry.

If I’m not careful, life will pass me by. I need to create something, to have something to my name. I need…

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