I can hear the ladies now:
"Wow, don't you just love the way he's dressed? And oh my god, did you SEE how well the Gonorrhea matched his suitcoat?"

Don't forget to pick up some Staph Infection boxers.

I’m sitting here mentally going over all of the current school projects at hand. There are great things that I should be excited about. These are things that I’ve been looking forward to for a long time. Well, I’m “all up in it.” But “excited” doesn’t seem to be the right word to describe my mindset.. The thrill of it all, …that which makes things fun and engaging, doesn’t seem to be there. It’s more of a hardcore desire to do well, to “think idiot think. ..you’ve got to kick butt on this one” ….instead of: “wow, this is cool and new and captivating.” It used to be like that in high school. Nobody really expected anybody to do well or push the envelope, ..so doing so was the only choice. But I’ve been in a different environment for the past 3 years. Coming up with unexpected design approaches, and following deep rigorous patterns of not only style development, but mind bending concept development, is the name of this new game. “This is WHY it looks like it does. This is WHY it makes sense.” Not just: “Wow that looks nifty. What filter did you use to get that effect?”

I’ve always been a weird guy when it came to ideas and concepts. But now I’m surrounded by other weird people. Coming up with the unexpected used to be so much cooler, when it wasn’t …expected.

But OH MAN, some of this stuff is still …SO COOL. Running Adobe Premier on a dual processor G4 Mac, and finally realizing all of the possibilities that Macromedia Director brings to the table, bends your brain. It makes you want to purposely delete portions of childhood memory, to make room for all the new commands and software particulars. So many particulars, so little time. But I’m not as focused and enthused as I know I can be, as I know that I’ve been in the past. What I want; what I need, is for somebody to walk by and call me an untalented worthless idiot, every ten or fifteen minutes. Because there is a mental indignant edge that I want to keep. One which I don’t think I’ve had in quite some time.

And in case you’re wondering, ..this is, MY journal. So I can say “I” and “I’m” and “I’ve” and “me” as much as I freaking want to. But not necessarily by choice. But because it still hurts to contemplate “we”. “The idea of “We” causes confusion. This guy is sick; throwing up all over the place; he probably couldn’t muster the balance to stagger in the approximate direction of that roller coaster ride, much less get on it, even if he wanted to.

In theory, it makes a whole'lotta sense, but in reality, it's just another hyped up jumble of words, more than likely put together by somebody who found it easier to sit inside and avoid life, ..by writing about it, But anyway, it's:

Todays quote:
"Courage is as often the outcome of despair as of hope; in the one case we have nothing to lose, in the other, everything to gain." --Diane De Pottiers

We can live beside the ocean
Leave the fire behind
Swim out past the breakers
Watch the world die

Suggestion to Microsoft PR:.
Next time Billy goes on the TV, make sure you take the "War On Terror" banner off the screen.

Schwarzenegger Prank Calls

Myself, my mother, and my father’s mother were driving home tonight, engaging in various boring conversations involving funerals, medication, food, and family history. It was overheard that my mother and father basically hung around each other, over a matter of several years, (5) before getting married. Basically kicking it old school, having a good time. And it really pisses me off that I’ve not/probably won’t participate in such a fantastic process. To make matters worse, my grandmother, unaware of my current status, begins talking about she and her husband, ..and the fact that their opposite personalities really seemed to feed off each other at first, then declined into constant tension and friction. Then she proceeded to profess how people who were really alike, seemed to be so much happier. They weren’t anywhere near understanding how those two subjects related to the quiet driver of the car. I wasn’t anywhere near being angry, just ironically pricked. I wanted to tell them to shut up; But the words that came out of my mouth were: “Geees..! Be quiet. .. Both of you”. Silently puzzled for only a few short seconds, they followed with confused laughter. And then I laughed. And suddenly I became aware of how tight my hand was gripped on the gearshift, and how much it still bothered me. And how resolved I am to not go through this again. And how I probably will anyway. And we drove on.

And isn’t it amazing, …how you can end such a story with the phrase: “And we drove on”, ..making the narrative appear so much more theatrical and seemingly dramatically profound? Well I wanted to. Cause that’s how it happened. Because my day has been really weird. Ok? Cause I had to change a stupid flat tire on the way to hot springs, within 500 ft of where mom had a flat tire yesterday. Cause I didn’t go to John’s funeral yesterday, even though he was one of my dad’s good friends, cause I needed to go to biology, so I could watch a 1 hour movie about evolution, cause this afternoon I happened to stop by a sign shop to see if they could follow through on a strange request of printing out a huge image that I’d made, and John’s daughter Sarah was inside the sign shop, seeing her boyfriend who works there, cause it was really strange and awful, saying how sorry I was about her dad, and trying to explain why I wasn’t at the funeral. cause my day has been really eventful and continuously ironic. Ok? Ok.

Wow. I just called Jason, and Ginger told me that she got shot at today, ...someone shot a hole in one of the new downstairs windows. Gun season for deer just started here in Arkansas, so somebody obviously was hunting near the woods at the edge of the cow pasture on the other side of the driveway, and that somebody was obviously retarded. The bullet went through both panes of window glass. Jason found the slug laying on the tile floor of the dining room. Coool.

And Jinna has informed me of a very attractive opportunity. Last time I checked, airfare to dallas was super cheap. This could be good. This could be very good.

And I absolutley love this song that I just heard on the radio: Tupelo Honey by Van Morrison. I command you to download the mp3. Why are you still sitting there? Do it.

And then there is that other thing going on. But maybe if we try not to think about it we can all continue to live naively in our comfortable consumer-driven pleasure-seeking trance. cookie?

$11/hour. Where do I sign?

Really, ..really screwed up blogger software. That's it. Tired of posts getting all screwed up. So we're gonna switch to something, else.

I've been thinking. A whole lot. Over the last few days. About the way that I am, and the way that I want to be, and the why for who what for. Why do I act this way here and that way there and this way with some people and that way with other people and this way with those people and that weird way with her. Not necessarily the things that I do per say, but the intensity and frequency that I talk or speak up and say what I'm thinking, and how the answer to that quandary doesn't even begin to solve the question because it wouldn't take into consideration that I seem change thinking patterns, depending on who I'm with. I don't think it's a matter of being easily influenced, persuaded, or swayed, or out of a hungry desire to fit in, because I really don't care. I think it's more of a need to understand, and relate, and get along. That's my guess.
I just have a hard time with saying: "This is me. This is how I act. This is what I'll say. This is how I am. Take it or leave it." Because I don't think I know who I am....on a social level. I'm unsure as to how much it really matters anyway, but it would be really nice to know. I don't think anybody does. Do they?

Or maybe I need to quit thinking so much and try living. Acting instead of reacting.
Or maybe college has given me too much time to think, and really screwed me up in the head. Go out and chop some firewood. I'd like for everything to be simpler. That's where I want to go. I have no idea who I am. But I have an idea on who I don't want to be.



This morning i was pulling into school and one of those black empty film canisters rolled up under my feet. I guess it'd been lying under the seat, waiting for the chance to do so. My first reaction to the black moving blur, was that it might be some kind of creature. But after realizing what it was, I remembered how two years ago, I roll up to my oral communications night class, open the door on my big red car, and out from under the passenger side seat...jolts one of mom's cats...up onto the dash...onto me, scratching me all up, ..and out the door.... never to be seen again.
I guess my window must've been left open; the cat chose to take a nap in the car; hides under the seat when I walk up to car; and rides along for the 40 minute drive to school; scared out of it's freaking mind. The cat obviously wanted to be in the car, ...but going for a ride wasn't planned on, anticipated, or expected. And the moral of the stupid cat story is: "I have no idea." But hopefully a home was found somewhere around campus for the stupid wild cat. Either that, or it had a deadly encounter with any of the bold super-fierce squirrels that are always standing in front of me on the campus sidewalks, giving the evil eye and cocking their heads back and forth in a manner that says: "If you were even one foot shorter, I’d jump up on your face and eat you right here."

I want one of these. Because it's the

I've been thinking. A whole lot. Over the last few days. About the way that I am, and the way that I want to be, and the why for who what for. Why do I act this way here and that way there and this way with some people and that way with other people and this way with those people and that weird way with her. Not necessarily the things that I do per say, but the intensity and frequency that I talk or speak up and say what I'm thinking, and how the answer to that quandary doesn't even begin to solve the question because it wouldn't take into consideration that I seem change thinking patterns, depending on who I'm with. I don't think it's a matter of being easily influenced, persuaded, or swayed, or out of a hungry desire to fit in, because I really don't care. I think it's more of a need to understand, and relate, and get along. That's my guess.
I just have a hard time with saying: "This is me. This is how I act. This is what I'll say. This is how I am. Take it or leave it." Because I don't think I know who I am....on a social level. I'm unsure as to how much it really matters anyway, but it would be really nice to know. I don't think anybody does. Do they?

Or maybe I need to quit thinking so much and try living. Acting instead of reacting.
Or maybe college has given me too much time to think, and really screwed me up in the head. Go out and chop some firewood. I'd like for everything to be simpler. That's where I want to go. I have no idea who I am. But I have an idea on who I don't want to be.

This morning i was pulling into school and one of those black empty film canisters rolled up under my feet. I guess it'd been lying under the seat, waiting for the chance to do so. My first reaction to the black moving blur, was that it might be some kind of creature. But after realizing what it was, I remembered how two years ago, I roll up to my oral communications night class, open the door on my big red car, and out from under the passenger side seat...jolts one of mom's cats...up onto the dash...onto me, scratching me all up, ..and out the door.... never to be seen again.
I guess my window must've been left open; the cat chose to take a nap in the car; hides under the seat when I walk up to car; and rides along for the 40 minute drive to school; scared out of it's freaking mind. The cat obviously wanted to be in the car, ...but going for a ride wasn't planned on, anticipated, or expected. And the moral of the stupid cat story is: "I have no idea." But hopefully a home was found somewhere around campus for the stupid wild cat. Either that, or it had a deadly encounter with any of the bold super-fierce squirrels that are always standing in front of me on the campus sidewalks, giving the evil eye and cocking their heads back and forth in a manner that says: "If you were even one foot shorter, I’d jump up on your face and eat you right here."

No money, no girlfriend for a long foreseeable time, a song on the radio that makes your head sink into your kneck, a paper bag filled with assorted donuts, laying ahead is the forty minute drive that drives me, to school, and ..to the brink of suicidal boredom five days a week, and wHat ThE!?! !!.....this Dr Pepper must've just been stocked because it's hot nasty warm.

So bumping down the half-paved, tire-killing interstate, you look down, full of disgust at your nasty drink, and again notice the underside of the bottlecap.
"Sorry, you are not a winner."

Return your eyes to the road. Pause. Reflect.
"Yeah but we're workin on it."

Drew, you are definately a moron, for actually writing down such stupid, crap.

Interesting quote of the day:
"I know he was of the opinion that cat and dog were better than beef."
-- Bob

Excited about next weekend. Looking over the bike today after we went riding. Hmmm. What needs to be done? We’re not talking about maintenance. We’re talking “preventative maintenance”. Chain; front sprocket; rear sprocket, clutch cable; definitely no need for concern. Replaced’em all two weeks ago. What else? Bearings sound ok. Checked over the spokes last week. Tight. Tuning? She’s been running great. No reason to think about doing anything to the carburetor. Even if you had any idea what you were doing, you’d only screw it up. Ran great fantastic “death grip on the handlebars fast” this afternoon. So the new sparkplug is ..ok to go. So before Friday, drain and refill oil in the crankcase. Slop filter oil on the new air filter, and determine where to attach the stupid flag. You can’t get in through the main entrance if your orange safety flag isn’t tall enough to touch the cross pole above the gate. And last time the manner in which you attached your flag…all duck taped and zip tied in between the front forks, was pathetic. So we’re not doing that again Drew. This time we’re going to do better, and not get whipped by the flag stick every time you happen to get sick air. We’re getting a drill, and all kinds of bolts and washers, to fasten that stupid flag to the rear fender. Who cares anyway? A nice new sticker will cover over the hole anyway. And then we’re going to wash. Wash the bike. Make the bike shine. Spray WD-40 all over it so that no particle of dirt will even have a chance of hitching a ride. And it won’t get dirty. The whole time. Because how can a bike possibly get dirty in big wonderful steep-duned wind shifting sand? It can’t. What a wonderful set of parameters. Few things in life are so certain.

I’d like to go back with my camera; to the place that we rode today. A new place. Right off the interstate headed towards Bismark and Social Hill, is a huge plot of forest land maintained by the Ross Foundation. Awsome, wicked, spectacular narrow trail riding. We came across a big fire-lookout-tower on top of one of the highest hills, and managed to climb up to where the wooden steps began. I’m guessing they don’t want people in the old fire tower. It WAS kinda rickety. But man was it tall. At the top you could see most of downtown Hot Springs, Lake Degray, Lake Hamilton, and Highway 7. What a wonderful, sunny, discovery and adrenaline filled, feeling great to be alive and out there, windy fall day. We used to plan and prepare and plan and wake up early and drive, and drive, for half a day, to ride in places like this. Now we’ve found one. Around 70 miles of unrutted trails in and around three thousand something square acres of unfenced hardwood forest. 10 miles from home, and 7 minutes from Waffle House.

The vocabulary is not posessed to describe how wonderful today was. It reminded me how much I love to ride, and see new things, and of how many great places and things there are, ..around here.

On matters of Opinion

Corey and Collin are out of work. Bums. Rolling pennies. Times are hard. Dozens of building projects around here have stalled amid fears of drastic economic turmoil. And for electricians, this leads to ...two brothers at home for the time being, until a scheduled "big hotel job" rolls around sometime next month. So they're broke. Flat broke. "Selling dirbikes" broke.

But never fear, for I have arrived at a solution. I shall come through for my brothers in their time of need.
Through the magic of PayPal, you can all whip out your credit cards and send these poor beggars ..love, ..in the form of money, ..which will automatically be deposited in a joint bank account.

10 or 20 dollars would be nice, but I'd be more inclined to see you send very small insulting amounts of cash, so as to insult my brothers; and humble them; for they have been living off the fat of the land for several months now; laughing at poor drew with his full-time school schedule and meager part-time job. So send money. five or ten cents at a time. "PayPal - it's fast, free and secure!"

Life seems to be stuck. Right Here. Dead in the water. Raw.
And writing extensively on the subject is only going to pound two basic ideas into the ground; over and over. And over:

1. I can't get my mind off of it

and 2. I have no idea what I'm talking about and no concept of what I'd be aiming to accomplish.

So I won't write about it extensively. Here. Anymore. Because it's already invaded every other part of me. I refuse. So this is where it starts. And stops.
No more.

ok. the blogger publishing software is glitching.. things from yesterday got all diced around and screwed up. oh well. probably just as well.

Thinking about metaphor, symbols, subconcious relationships, significance, and playing with random ideas which could possibly put them all together for the project at hand. I'm learning and expanding much more so in this class than in any other. Tuesdays and Thursdays at 1:30. Wow. Because the proffessor is great. Did I say great. Great. A weird feeling is had when you can go into any large book store in the world and find stacks of

Collin has no time for jibber jabber. He is occupied. Intense.
Drew however, is now back on the prowl. But reluctant and awkward for who knows how long. Damaged.
There are a lot of things going through my mind. But not many of them that I wanna talk about or make people aware of, even if they wanted to know. I don't know what to think; what to conclude. But it's impossible to walk around with a huge bloody wound and not be constantly reminded of it. I don't have any hard feelings for anybody, only for myself, and my expectations....that are now covered over by thousands of what'ifs.
What'ifs and feelings that remain stacked on top of all other thoughts. On top of the old New Englander couple at the airport Burger King who seemed to complain about everything, on top of the marines standing around the corner with M-16 assault rifles. On top of school, and on top of any ordinary passing whim...but mixed in with the songs on the radio that now mean so much more.
I just don't feel like a "whole person" anymore because it's not possible for my mind to go back to where it's been over the last two months. Confused. reflective. sad. disappointed. But breathing.

It isn't as if I expected some kind of unrecieved return on an investment. Nothing like that at all. More like: "Hi, my name is reality. I'm just stopping by to say hello, and to kick sand in your eye."

In a way it's good to be home, at a normal Arkansas elevation of 400 feet. I find it much harder to be properly cocky rational and whole, when I'm not here with the people and landscape that I know.

long, comfortable pauses

Don't get me wrong, talking head is a hobby, bordering on an occupation, ...but comfortable silence is something special. Something to value. Besides, by the end of the day I'm tired of hearing people talk. Moronic irritating personalities and commercials on Radio and tv, long-winded professors, clothing salesmen, and green teethed cashier ladies at the gas station, jabbering back and forth about how they're not going to put up with their pathetic boyfriends "unnacceptable behavior".
Ok lady, get off the phone and give me back my gas card so I can go home with these Twinkies and Corn Nuts.

I love to talk. And I love to be around people who are talkative and interesting. But I long for a silent friend. I'm going to see her again, so I won't be around until Wednesday.

I hear the train a comin'
it's rollin 'round the bend
and I ain't seen the sunshine
since
I don't know when. I'm stuck in Folsom Prison,
and time keeps draggin' on.

But that train keeps a movin' on down to-San-An-Tone
When I was just a baby
my mame told me, "Son Always be a good boy, don't ever play with guns."
But I shot a man in Reno,
just to watch him die.
When I hear the whistle blowin'
I hang my head and cry.
Well, if they freed me from this prison,
if that railroad train was mine.
I bet I'd move it all a little farther
down the line.
Far from Folsom Prison,
that's where I want to stay.
And I'd let that lonesome whistle,
blow my blues away.

- "Folsem Prison Blues" by Johnny Cash

The algebra of infinite justice