Angst!

Teenage angst, loving angst, and more more angst.

Angst is such an angry word. 

My mojo was off tonight, and I couldn't understand why. Wore all black, awesome geometrical tie, shined my shoes, lucky harmonica, haircut, good attitude and most importantly, really long socks. I tried to move in, but no matter where I moved, the lady-folk moved farther away. ANGST 1, CAM 0. I also felt like I was about to fall asleep - so tired, so bored. The DJ wasn't playing my jams: "Apache", "Rapper's Delight". I was hungry, tired, a lady-less orphan, on the dance floor with my hands snug in my pockets. I didn't have a care. Maybe thats why. I don't know if girls like the guys who are nice and can cook, or if they really want the badass juvy boy who's pants are about to fall off. "James is such a punk. He didn't pay for my dinner and then he smoked pot all the way home" actually means "Jimmy is such a nice boy! He let me pay, and then he filled the car with his herbs. He is an amazing gardener." I don't get it anymore. I thought I did, but I don't. It drives me crazy how I can't get inside their heads. I crave the ladies! Damn hormones. Ponder, like, 4 evr.

So tired. So sleepy.

I feel kind of creepy.

But they initiated it.

They left because of my fit.

Love and romance

if full of bull

maybe i'll try bromance

_______na

Angst Angst, angst ANGST ANGST ANGST!!

Ha, ha(ngst),

Ca(ngst)meron

Flowers for Cameron

2 starbursts left, two number two pencils, and a box of ultra-sox kleenex.

The equation for the word "blog" is quite simple. It is a single replacement reaction. We(b) + log = we blog. Only just I blog by myself (with horrendorous grammar). I don't like grammar. It should up and leave me be - ain't grammar already dun enuff? But it is essential - I don't want to talk like an idiot, after all. I just like reading books, and they usually have correct grammar, ergo their grammar is passed onto me. I am a monkey see, monkey do learner, more than read-a-book and think about it learner. My version is more effective; but it does have to do stuff with monkeys. Too bad I am mortal enemies with all monkeys. Ponder, (*_*)

I feel like saying random words until I think of something to write about, so I think I will.

Firewire cable, harmonica and my starburst

charger and two speakers, with a cup 

filled to the brim with all of two pencils, and a

"Dummies" guide to drumming with

a CD with DayQuil (here it comes)

Angry Onomatopoeia! When I feel like an acrophobic strung on a flagpole, the last thing I want to do is swallow a pill the size of an elephant (it might be bad if you were afraid of elephants as well). The DayQuil pills are over sized, like fast food drinks and Tom Cruise's ego. Usually, I am fair swallowing pills. Most are happy to slide down my throat without giving me a gag reflex. No matter how sips of water, brain waves sent to my larynx, reassuring qualms from myself, I could not down those pills. Instead, I just destroyed it. I am becoming bitter, but that pill was on my last frustration. Ponder, 10x10.

Whatever. I am not feeling funny today, just angst. I didn't play the saxophone today, that must be why.

A saxophoem

slender as i caress 

your brass castings

cold as i bless

your low Bb key

HONK!

Hahaha!! Saxophone jokes. Lordy. 

Good night to you, sir.

Greyboy and the Blues

Voice Crack Tampon

 3 Flight of the Conchords songs, Noel Fielding's silverback monkey, a portrait of Obama (AMEN) with a George Washinton wig and Seinfield.

My voice was flucuating today - it was epitome of annoying. When my friend said "I love it when boys' voice's crack." I coldly replied "I love it when girls have periods." If only there was a voice crack tampon. I am also quite bitter today - I did eat a whole ginger root this morning, and I had "essence of sour". Ponder, oops, smashed that little orphan's stop watch.

I think I should spend a day in the city and follow people around, repeating everything they say. I could have epic arguments with myself, beat myself up, talk to elves, what I usually do. I haven't had a day like that since the good old days, the '60s, when I was cryogenetically frozen and opened in the future. My containment cell was only two cells away from Austin Powers. Good chap, he was. Its funny, because I think I'm my own great-uncle. Ponder, 007 minutes.

A short post today - not much to say

so go away - throw clumps of clay

like a monkey throws his poop - and run the loop de loop

a scoop technician scoops poop -  and computers go "boop"

I like this folder - its black, like my soul. "French or Native American last name"

Five million. Or as home schooled kids like to say, Five eleventy thousand. "Colbert"

Good __________ , and I wish you __________ as you __________ and you... what? you _______ed someone?? __________ . Selfish ___________

Bye bye.

Terrorist Fist Jab

Kleenex, a stupid DVD+R disc, and a notebook that should have been in my backpack

I was playing the harmonica in Food Lion today, and it was really loud. ReallY LOUD. People look at me, more then they normally do. I have more energy today even though I had less sleep last night. I also slammed the shopping cart into its home. If aliens came to this planet, they would note how people in swimming pools swim nowhere and that the shopping cart system is the only perfect thing on this Earth. They would also enjoy sunflower seeds, and most marsupials. In fact, the aliens are SO interested in the marsupials, they leave them on a planet. One day, humans will find a planet of marsupials. Just wait. Ponder, 2 seconds.

Johnny was a loner. Just kidding, Johnny was quite the socialite - living in rich Manhattan had given him friends and fame. Too bad Johnny was poor - he didn't have any money. He just pretended and had clothes. People just assumed that he had money. They picked up tabs for him, did his dry cleaning, and bought him elaborate presents. Johnny slept in his Lamborghini and showered at the local YMCA. Lucky for Johnny, none of the Manhattanites walked through back alleys.  Ponder, ninety million nothings.

YMCA song

old men and women bathroom halls

naked arms and naked breast and naked balls

tampons on the bottom of the pool

having a period is not that cool

Sweaty by the masses

lots of fat asses

I hate the YMCA

The bed is calling me, 

so I bid adieu

Greyboy and the Blues

When it glimmers, it shines

A video camera, half-eaten water bottle, and two microphones

He came to me in a dream last night.  It was wonderful, the best dream I've had in months. I will describe it to you - but you have to keep my description sacred, and treat it like your own. Here it is - I was standing in a dark room, but a single light shone upon me. I was resting on a bar, starring off into the blackness. I felt melancholy, like after the sun leaves the sky or when it rains so hard you can't see anything. The light was really bright, blinding me almost, and then he came. I saw him out of the corner of my eye at first, and then I turned. Suddenly, my melancholy left and it was replaced by a feeling of utmost joy, like when you cry when you're happy. He embraced me and I wept, happy and confused and not caring where the hell I was but I was with him. He consoled me and assured me and held me as I cried out of too many feeling to count with both of my hands. But then he faded away and I was still happy - he is coming back soon, I can feel it. Ponder, Infinitely.

These stupid DVD-R discs refused to enter my computer. I tried everything: bribery, deceit, black mail, homicide, suicide, insecticide. I will try again tomorrow with the good cop / bad cop routine and crack cocaine. Ponder, 6 time 8 is 56 plus one seconds.

I should be doing homework but I will write poems insteady:

Time is the best medicine they say

Well time can't keep all diseases at bay

Mortality and disease don't obey the rules

making us humans capital fools

I guess its better this way

They say people die of time every day

It is dark outside now

so the monsters are coming

they are so long and loud

they don't like dawn dawning

they will play loud music

and drink beer

they will whine and get sick

because what they really fear

is getting up in the morning and getting a job

Thgin doog : dneirf 

Revenge of the Vacuumpires

One Rubik's cube, harmonica, and two empty vinyl gloves.

Just kidding, turns out the immortality-ness in my next life was a charade. The evil sales wizard Merlinock granted me eternal life from the pond and my "lifetime" warranty had run out, deeming my warrant for immortality useless. Ponder, 5 minutes, and 55 seconds. 

I hate vacuuming. It must be the constant drone and whirring of the machine, or the fact that "vacuum" has two "u"s side by side, which is dangerous and unlawful. Some people like to vacuum when their baby can't sleep. This should also be unlawful, because these babies will grow up to be "vacuumpires", soulless shells who live only to vacuum. They are similar to the Janitors, half cleaning detergent-half human beasts that live to wash the hallways in the darkness of the night. Vacuuming today, I felt the primal vacuumpire urges wash over me - suddenly every spec of dust, crumb particle, small shred of paper came to me. I had to fight the urge to clean the whole room. I fear that I may be turning into a vacuumpire. Ponder, 13 dozen seconds.

As I lay in the bed beside him, I tried not to think. He looks the same, and he coughs the same, and his sneeze sounds like himself. But he doesn't move correctly and his voice is barely recognizable from the past. At least all of the memories are intact. Ponder, infinitely.

I have a New Year's resolution, just like the normal people. I promised myself that I would live this year without any regrets - not in the thought that I will try to remain like the majority, but the fact that I will not care what anyone else thinks. It is really hard - to shrug of anything embarrassing. But really - if you don't like a person, then why would you care what they think? If its a true friend, would they really care if you did something silly? Ponder, 6 - 2 + 9 and a baker's dozen.

Counting the seconds, counting the minutes, the hours

bringing you chocolates and flowers

call you on the phone really late

make a day for the next date

and why do I care so?

why did you go?

I thought we loved although

why do I care so?

See you on the flipside of the moon

The Communion

One hotel suite, a half-eatean box of Thai fried rice, three lights on

I would like to submit to be immortal in my next life. I mean, if I really believed in reincarnation. I sort of do - in fact, I do (let it be known). If I was reincarnated, I half three preferences - either to be a ninja, immortal or Chuck Norris (the latter pending, as many are vying for the same position). Ninja speaks for itself, as does Chuck Norris, but immortal doesn't. At first, immortality seems golden - you can't die, but at what expense, to out live all your friends and family? Whatever. I have already planned my immortal life. I am born in England in 1066, and I am seperated from my family in the Battle of Hasting. I grow up in Germany, and upon my 20th birthday I find the fountain of youth (tadaay! not born immortal). I am now immortal. I travel across Siberia, hunting the wildlife, and I am kidnapped by Chinese Ninjas along the Mongolian border. They really like, and they teach chinese and the art of ninjutsu. Then, in a battle with the Japanese, I am accidently put on a Japan. The Japanese call me "skinny white boy" and take me as one of their own. This is when I learn the way of the samurai, until Thai pirates steal me. They don't like me, and they rape and abuse me (not so fun). The Thai pirates have a battle and lose to Arab sailors, who take me as their own. They show me Islam, but I refrain (I am laoist at the time) - to this, they throw me into the water. Ironically, their boat gets swept into a cyclone, and I am whirled to India. Indian nobles find me and dub me an "untouchable," so I am a total outcast. I befriend and steal a war elephant and escape to the Fertile Crescent, where I meet one of the surviving Arab sailors from the cyclone. In a fit of anger, I destroy him using my mind - now I am on the lamb from the Arab government as well. I flee to Constantinopole and work my way into a government position. I live under many different aliases for 400 years until Constinopole is attacked by the Turks. I flee to Renaissance Italy, and become a painter and scholar - under the name "Michaelangelo", and apparently I am big stuff. I fake my own death and go north back to England, where I find my birthplace. Unfortuanately, I had been followed by an Italian assasin, sent by the Pope. The assisin manages to tie my feet to a boulder and pushes it in, pulling my to my murky almost-death. Since I can't die, I am in hell, until the ropes that bind me disenegrate. When I come up, it is the 19th century... and to be continued...

I already have two ears!

Three homemade cheese pizzas, Joe Cocker, and a massage chair.

Silence is a wonderful thing - its kind of a hard notion to configure in your brain. The fact that silence could overpower words and sounds is unnerving to some, blasphemy to others. Try this - on a piano, any kind (as long as it is acoustic), sit down and play the middle C, with the sustain pedal down. Now wait - and listen. If you listen hard enough, another tone becomes evident. After more listening, yet another emerges from the sustain. Perhaps not silence, but just one small word or phrase could be just as powerful. Ponder, for one minute.

Yesterday was quite a day - one for the history books as an old person might say (I bet that few did). The first black president - that is truly amazing, something that the whole world should be proud of. It is like America has come out and said "No more cowboys and ranches; let's get down for some real business." Ponder, half of two minutes.

The Accident is becoming more evident every day. I remember that night - the moment I received the phone, the car ride toxic with baited breath, the waiting room and The News. The surgeon came and told us of the surgery - as I held my mother, I wondered 'Who will hold me?' as the doctor recalled the surgery. Those words - the most chilling words, words that spun like a blizzard through my body - those fateful, fearful, unfair words that spilled out of that man's lips. I could only focus on his eyes, his cold, calculating, blue eyes. I failed to read his mind, but his words said enough. For the first time in my life, that night, I was defeated. Everything before that night failed to scratch me. Ponder, infinitely.

time after time again

let time again let me lend

perhaps my time to some other

protect them from harm, give them cover

maybe then, will time undo

my sins and pains I will say adieu

night and night

from darkness to light, that

with me in limbo

forgive me, time is a bimbo

release me from my mortal gain

of time and space that I might tame

to bend the stars

to my favor

by boats planes and cars

to travel me braver

sincerely,

Greyboy and the Blues

Tales of the Giraffe

They said it. What? They said it would snow. When? Tonight. How much? Four to six inches. No way. Yes, way. Wow.

My brain talks to itself, to keep itself in check. I think that my left and right brain have quarrels sometimes. I also think that I two consciences, like in cartoons, only the good conscience likes to abuse the bad conscience when it says bad things. Then again, I also hope that the ghost of that aboriginal living in my closet will get a job all ready (I hope you are reading this, Gerald). Ponder, infinitely.

Singing the blues is harder than it looks. Sometimes, when I have or want to sing the blues, I can't sing the blues because there ain't no blues to sing about. This makes capturing the blues hard. Some people who don't have the blues can just be like actors and act the blues, which isn't half bad. It's sort of like how if you get tomatoes from the store, they were ripened while they were shipped - so yes, they are fresh, sort of. But canned tomatoes are real ripe tomatoes, flash steamed and packaged. So I guess I prefer canned tomatoes, but always the best is the ones you would buy at your local farmers market.

I wake up to classical music every morning. Its soothing, the intricate polyphonies, the complex harmonies and rhythms and notation and instrumentation that goes into it all. Maybe not when thinking about classical it is so soothing. Jazz is more fun to listen - it truly is a language. Like if quoting a different musical piece or melody, like playing the theme song for jeopardy during Summertime. 

My wooden table is wobbling while I type, and it is unbearable. I don't know how I stand it. There are so many wobbly things in this world - new born giraffes, thin trees, old ladies -but  mostly new born giraffes. I think it would be interesting being a giraffe, having the tall legs and those funny looking things on my head. Perhaps I would have the most majestic things, and I would attract many females. They would say "look upon thee crowned nest of glory, tis his horn are glowing quite extrplendously tonight" and I would reply, "Indeed giraffettes, I have fantabulously grizzled sploops that I would that you would stroke." You see, this is the giraffe dialect, as they are most extraordinary creatures.

I just looked into my window - I think window reflections are the most magnificent reflection. You can look at yourself but also something else at the same time, removing some of the vanity of the mirror. Of course, then the reflection gets in the way of what you were really trying to see, and then you are just annoyed with your reflection. 

A haiku of sleep:

sleep, awesome mighty

tuck me into bed, tightly

and not so frightly

Bueno noche.

What State?

G blues, 181 beats per minute, an empty cup of coke (the cola kind), and button vest.

Grey today, almost of the snowing kind. Snowflakes are unique truly - but what if that means that every flake is alike in their indifference. Ponder, for forty-five seconds.

I wonder why we cry -  I guess that the brain releases hormones that do something, at least that's what a biology teacher would say, but, I don't like biology. I like chemistry - cold, collective chemistry that is, pure and mathematical - the kind that you could just think about for days (if you were me) - the infinite complexity of everything around us. My wooden desk is a heterogeneous mixture, that is, not the same throughout, but the air around me is. Ponder, for three and a half minutes.

Pizza dough is quite curious - yeast and flour and salt and warm water (105 degrees Fahrenheit is the best temperature) that is blended and kneaded. The trick is in the water - flour ratio, the taste is in the yeast and oil. In Chicago (amen!) pizza is made with lots of oils and butter, but in NYC flour is the main ingredient, so the dough is much more pliable (ergo the throwing and tossing of the pizza). Ponder, for one minute.

Horace Silver is playing - the blues tonight, "Sister Sadie," one part stop time, one part funky groove and five parts swing. It sounds like he is sticking to the F7b11 - I think of my jealousy, then I think about practice, then the notion of moving from my perch, then back to the music - ah, the piano solo. Ponder, six minutes and nineteen seconds.

Cutting onions, sauteed with fresh basil and kosher sea salt in olive oil - my eyes were watering through my corrective lenses (Onion-1, Cameron-0), so I decided to put my goggles on (Cameron-1, Onion-1) and then I sliced and diced those matriarchs back to their maker, and the aluminum pan from where they are to be burned alive (Cameron-2, Onion-1). The universe has once again failed to poison me - knock on my wood table. Ponder, sixty five seconds.

Farewell for now, those who and those who scorn.

Until we meet once more,

Greyboy and the Blues