thisisformax

I wonder...

Sat, 30 Sep 2006 06:19:16 GMT

I should leave, right now. I always do and I'm still here and still intact and still unheartbroken.
It's late and I have stuff to do and I should just get out, right before things get to the point where I know they're going and I feel myself starting to cower.
I wonder why I'm always at step A without ever knowing C when I never go through B and I have to laugh, because I don't really wonder or even question it in the slightest; it is known to me and still I lie.
And oh, I see her slipping
I can feel her eyes hazing over
I dare not watch as she falls towards me
her whole being on a target trajectory aimed at my outstretched heart
and I can't breathe as I tried to tell her to stop and wait
My body betrays and I cannot catch her
I turn away, just in time, my hands slowly pressing against my ears to cover the sound of her hitting the ground.

The advancement of technology in our school systems

Sat, 09 Sep 2006 18:41:35 GMT

Let's see what I have to say about this:

FUCK THIS SHIT

FUCK THIS SHIT
FUCK
FUCKTHI SH SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK THIS SHIT!!!!!!!!!

Hmmm. Well, there must be a cause for this anger. Let us delve deep into the conscious and examine:
My physics teacher posts the homework due the next week on his website. There are two problems with this, both of which I have encountered in two fucking days. The first being that, say he forgets to post them, the student cannot work on his math homework during his little free time. This happened yesterday, on Friday, my homework day. My homework day, ruined. Fucking great. But ah! I check late at night before retiring to slumber and there they are; the homework is posted and ready. Now, come the morning, come the new day and I begrudgingly sit once again in front of the taunting glow of the moniter, not quite looking forward to doing physi-
wow. The website doesn't work. The fucking website won't display.

This. Is. The. Second. Third. Of. My. Free. Time.
I have three portions of homework time over the weekend which I spread my math studies across.
Number two is gone. Awesome.

I love life right now. Strange, I know, but I'm almost positive that this feeling is love.
Because it's either love, or unadulterated hatred.
I can never tell.

The man, the bar, the adventure

Tue, 22 Aug 2006 21:33:22 GMT

It's Tuesday again. I fucking hate Tuesdays. My wife left me on a Tuesday, and then four years later, died on a Tuesday. Every week I have the worst day of my life, and it's always on a Tuesday. This bartender has been staring me down for half a minute now, just waiting. Waiting for me to tell him what I want to drink. What I want to forget my troubles with. I shouldn't have called him over...I'm just not ready.
"Are you going to order anything?"
The bartender. What a prick. Maybe I should just wave him away.
"Yeah, ahhhhmmm, let me get...."
Why did I say that? Now he's cocking an eyebrow at me, waiting as more time goes by. Why did I come into a bar on a Tuesday? I should just get a beer and chill out. "Give me two rounds of the hardest shit you have."
I sense a certain bit of confusion somewhere in the information tunnels linking my brain to my mouth. No matter, the bartender has left, leaving me alone again. If only I could forget...the Tuesdays...

A man taps me on the shoulder.

I spin around in my chair. He's a big biker motherfucker, one of those guys that starts fights for no reason and breaks more pool sticks over his knee than anyone else in the bar. You know, just the type a guy like me is looking for.

"You're sitting in my chair."
His breath smells like armpits and beer, making me wish I had ordered an ale instead of these hard shots that now lay on the counter in front of me. I look to both sides of me and find the bar stools around me to be void of people.
"Fuck off and die."
This was not the answer I should have said. He laughs though, grabbing my shots and downing them both before rubbing his throat.
"Spicy..." he whispers.

Sorry I couldn't finish this. I have to go get my hair cut. Maybe it's better this way though....

If Ardy ever stopped rocking, you know we would kill him

Tue, 11 Apr 2006 04:54:12 GMT

Sharks hockey. I cannot form my thoughts of this subject into words that would be understood by mortals, so instead, I am forced to use the words of the gods:

GRRNIITA! Jetuu! JETUU! GRRNIITAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!

In other news (sike!), I'm going to a Sharks game this Saturday. To say I am excited is quite an understatement. In fact, I find myself thrown once again into the god's dialect:

BRRINGGUUUU!!!!!!! FUCK!!!! [note, this does not mean the same as in English]

And, in fact, that will be the last time I use that already tired joke. Let's see, to update my 2 friends on the rest of my life....I've mostly just been killing lots of Jerries in Call of Duty 2. Quite humorously, we are broaching the subject of WWII and the concentration camps in my English class, so I find that I take a special sort of satisfaction now everytime I head-shot a Nazi.

In final news, I've been pondering asking a pretty hot girl out this weekend, but my heart is gripped with mortal fear of not rejection, but deliverance. I'll probably let you guys know how that goes....

Alright

Fri, 31 Mar 2006 20:58:36 GMT

So, I'm going to have a bunch of different friends on here than on myspace, so I'll try to write different stuff than my shitty myspace blogs. In fact, I'll tell you what happened yesterday, since that was interesting:

Spring break. Thursday. I don't have a shirt on. This girl knocks on my door and I, being still a little sleep groggy, answer it half naked. This leads to an interesting conversation in which she gives me her brother's cell phone number (?). After that, she leaves in a black van with no license plate. While fear grips my heart and the gangsterness of the van, I pick up the phone and dial the number...

it seems they need a white boy to do some dirty work.

And here I go thinking I would be able to sleep in today.

I don't put a shirt on and head out to my car. The trunk still has all my equipment from last night, so I don't have to restock from my cave. The girl walks over and gets into the passenger seat (which I find to be weird, since I thought she left with the van).

"Are you as good as they say you are?" she askes.
"It depends on how good they say I am,"
"They say you're really good," she answers.
"Define really,"
"It means 'very'"
"Define good,"
"It's sort of like, when things aren't bad,"
"Then yeah," I reply, my voice gruff like my beard, "I guess I am."

My foot hits the accelerator, hard, and we're thrown forward as I accidently leave the parking break on. She looks sideways at me, but I ignore her. The break slides down and we're off, racing towards....well, I have to find that out.

"Where is the target?"
"....you are," she whispers, drawing a 12-gauge from under her trenchcoat and cocking it. My brains are splattered everywhere as she pulls the trigger and I die.

Hopefully today doesn't suck as much.

Holy shit.....

Tue, 28 Mar 2006 01:44:30 GMT

This isn't Myspace! Woops!