Clearly what began as a treatise on the utilization and misuse of labels as self-identifiers got blown out of proportion and made into something vitriolic and altogether offensive.

I am sorry to those whom it may have hurt. I am especially sorry to John whom I know expects much better of me.

Recently I've found how stupendously easy it is for me to discard people I know out of hand...because let's face it, I don't care about them. Granted, St Mary's gave me a couple of really awesome folks over the years (nearly ALL of them being nerds, but not discounting my girl-crew<--you guys are the bestest), but in a much more accurate way. Shitmary's is a total cesspool of human filth, where everyone is in everyone else's business, drinks copiously, and is incapable of being a person. As a result? I'm cutting the umbilical. Granted I work there, so I have to see people, but frankly, I'm frikkin done. This was going to be a long funny rant about something, but I forget it now and it's time for cak....I mean cake. No no, I meant cock. Sorry for the confusion.

"Fuck relationships, let's shred."

Truer words were never said my friends. So things obviously went sour, and not the good sour like warheads, I mean the bad sour, like 'is this bleu cheese, no it's milk' sour. Suffice to say, without any details, Melrose place took over my life for a brief period. That's right, the cameras followed me into the bathroom, watched me go about my daily routines, which recently have consisted of apparently listening to SEIZED as loud as I can and weeping. It kinda makes you realize, that while we're all on constant search for love: amazing conversations, that fuzzy feeling when you're near someone, mindblowing sex, a deep personal connection... I've yet to find it outside of things like my State of Fear discography and Marvel Vs Capcom 2. Does this mean I'm incapable of being in a relationship with something alive? Very probably. But has shumz ever ditched me when I've needed him most? EFF NO. Chaos mutherfuckin dimension! OH I"M SORRY WAS THAT 2/3 OF YOUR HEALTHBAR UUUUHHHH OOHHHHHHHHHH. Which brings me to another important point. Nerdcon is very far away. Months even. How am I supposed to get my game on down in shitmary's county when the only people I hang out with now are in my band or whoooolllyyyy uninterested in orcs? YES I KNOW, THAT DOES MAKE ME DEBATE AS TO WHETHER THOSE FOLKS ARE PEOPLE AT ALL. OH SHIT...and last night was halloween.

No. Sorry. Halloween doesn't exist anymore. It's been replaced with a new holiday. It's called allslutsday. It's alot like allsaintsday only it involves an abnormal number of people in corsets. Has anyone else noticed this disturbing trend? HALLOWEEN USED TO BE ABOUT MURDER AND MONSTERS. THE DOUBLE MM'S. Now it's all about who can show the most cleavage and makeout with the most dudes dressed as pimps, or pimpin pirates, or pimpin business executives, or pimpin insurance salesman. The female equivalents are similar slutty farm worker, slutty taxi driver, slutty sewage treatment plant janitor. WHAT THE HELL. AS IF WE DON"T HAVE ENOUGH SLUTTY DAYS ALREADY. YOU NEED ANOTHER ONE TO AIR OUT YOUR CUNT IN THAT COOL OCTOBER AIR, TRYING TO SHAKE THE SMELL OF MR 40 SOMETHING YOU DID IN THE BACK OF A VAN THE FEW DAYS BEFORE!?!?! OR WHAT ABOUT YOU MR PIMPIN? IS YOUR PIMP CANE TO REMIND YOU THAT AT LEAST YOU HAVE ONE ROD THAT ISN"T COVERED IN SORES AND REGRETS? And funny costumes? FUNNY? Halloween is about TERROR. Now granted, nothing is more terrifying than a grown man in a carebear costume giving out candy to children, but what my grandpa does in his spare time is none of your business. Speaking of candy, we still have alot at the house, but it's mostly chocolate, and has been asserted many times, I like my candy how I like my men...fruity and hard. Soft and salty is another jurisdiction altogether, and let's face it, chocolate looks like poop. If you're gonna have some kind of anal fetish, at least go the full nine yards and eat some fucking shit, don't halfass it and eat chocolate.

sissy.

Since when did I stop taking steps off the edge of life and wallow in puddles of pig's vomit and lower intestines? WHAT HAPPENED. I'll tell you what happened, my mind got screwed over by some kind of emo canal fitted directly into my brain by little sausage men. THE FUCKING SAUSAGE MEN. THEY NEVER INVITE ME TO THEIR PARTIES ANYMORE. USELESS BIGOT FUCKS. I had a fever last night, and I realized. THE FEVER. THAT"S IT. Fevers are where I need to be, fevers bring me energy, open up my senses. I feel in tune with things, not the right things, the stabby things, the wonderful things, the fuzzy things. THE YOU THINGS. THE EVERYONE THINGS. I go in and out of these periods of frantic nothingness. I'm not sure where I am exactly, if it is the futurepast or the present allocation of time which I call the now. This sounds like drug induced hornswaggle but it's not. I"M LUCID. I"M JUST GOING CRAZY. I"M GONNA HAVE A BREAKDOWN. THIS IS FRIKKIN OUT OF CONTROL.

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

i just wrote
a belligerent
nonsensical email
to a friend i haven't talked to
in like
a year
WHAT
AM I DOING
I just wrote this.
What resulted was this burning desire to destroy Athens and Athenians wherever they appeared.
that was more or less it
only with more ALL CAPS
and phrases like
I CAN"T BELIEVE THAT WE"D BE LEAVING THESE LEAVES OF GRASS IN OUR WAKE
and similar play on words that would make allan shift in his brown orthropedic shoes filled with bile and sweaty discharge
my throat hurts and i want to bite things' eyes
12:50 AM
Just go to work for like 10 minutes tomorrow.
And send another belligerent e-mail.
While you are there.
hell i'll go to work and shit on someone's desk
i'll shit in someone's mouth
hell i'll eat some goddamn woodglue and attack someone with a chainsaw
i don't even know what's goin on
like i could do it
I REALLY COULD
i feel like i could
i feel like i could just go running around on route 5
just screaming
JUST SCREAMING
if my throat didn't hurt so bad
my head isn't working
it's someone elses
this is all some kind of fever dream
This is probably as close as you'll ever get to being drunk.
did i ever tell you
this one ngith
when i was sick
with a fever
last year
i woke up frantic
like actually screaming
swinging a mug around violently
because i was convinced
that a fish person
was going to lay eggs
in my brain
like....i'm dead serious
i was YELLING
my mom had to calm me down
That's crazy.
i remember waking up and just panicking like HOLY SHIT FISH PEOPLE FUCK FUCK
THEIR EGGS
THEY"RE GONNA PUT EM IN MY BRAIN
thrashing around and shit
nuts
absolutely nuts
fevers and me don't mix
How high was your fever?
oh that was a bad one
like i was SICK
bedridden sick
for days
it was like january or so
12:55 AM
January is a miserable month.
Only beaten by February.
february is the shitstorm of months
it is the 400 pound man in the overheated bus without a bathroom on 95 of months

I have ichat so this doesn't translate well, but dan and I were both sick and feverish and god knows what happened. That fish thing though? True motherfucking story. Ask my mom. It was an event.

The calvalcade of drops upon groomed plastic sound out a brief march as the withered breeze shakes me. We have left the window, my housemate and I, open since mid-september. Even as it rains and the chill of autumn sneaks in and makes the bathroom more unbearable by the day, neither of us close it. It’s out of a kind of stubbornness I suppose, I don’t want to give up the summer, the empty loving summer. Last summer had been bloated, full of life and yet unlife, like the walking cadaver botched relations. My hands have grown cold, clutching the towel that is far to small for me. I’ve always liked the huge ones that my parents bought, the kind that could cover your whole body like a blanket. I don’t know why I didn’t take one when I moved down here, guess it’s a bit like the window. Almost out of clothes. Well, not really, I have a whole basket full of clean ones, but they didn’t finish drying and all of them reek of mildew and neglect. So I’m wearing shorts, and its freezing. Well…seventy degrees. So yes, for me, freezing. The indistinct shaking of the fan in my room beckons me back to bed. I spent all day today in bed, after going into work for two hours. I don’t want to say, but I think it’s happened, the switchover that is. I’ve never seen such a quick movement that I can remember, but let’s just say I’ve never discounted the possibility. There’s always been the three aspects of Keith, as I tell everyone whom I begin to get close to, it’s a warning and a mark of pride, kind of like that scar you got when you played that stupid prank on your neighbors and got hurt in the process. I don’t feel empty, or dead, or whatever other things one typically feels when depression hits. I do feel those things, but I wouldn’t describe them that way. They certainly don’t have words, but that is also an attempt for me to constrain them with words. I feel. Let us leave it at that. It’s like a light in your mind, not white, not grey either. It doesn’t have a color per se, like many things in my life, I associate it with a temperature, a kind of feel that I can remember. It feels cool but not cold, like slate. A moment popped into my head, from a few nights ago. Molly, my girlfriend, more or less challenged my association between my poetry and feeling disturbed. She questioned the validity of that. It feels like a competition sometimes, between us, of who can be more fucked up. She wouldn’t even allow me to call her my girlfriend. If she knew I typed that she’d probably feel a little angry. And maybe she isn’t my girlfriend, we haven’t been calling it that. I’ve been striving for it, I don’t even know if we’re there. We spend wonderful times together, but they too, feel... cool. We’ve both grown up scared, of different things of course, but scared. It’s hard to tell someone or even know it for yourself, that you love them, when you’re scared. Perhaps in a similar way, I’ve been scared not to tell her. My desperate desire turns every moment into the moment, or at least it tries. You know those scenes, typically found in those heroic action movies, when everything suddenly goes into slow motion, and there is some kind of sorrowful slow song accompanying it? It’s a moment of tragedy and triumph, when the hero loses his best friend and charges with futility into the enemy, or the last moment between two dying lovers. I seek to transform every moment into that moment. Sure it may be constructed, by why risk one single moment in your lifetime that doesn’t feel like that. There’s an Against Me! (yes I know how very sell-out) song with the line ‘I’d rather go our separate ways I don’t feel anything, unless we’re living and dying for eachother, every second of our lives.’ Sometimes, just for a moment, I feel that in a more succinct, more powerful way. Looking into Molly’s eyes will literally, for a moment or two, make me want to forget everything else. Every single thing, the weight of my own body, my desire to kiss her, the memory of friends, family, all my dreams, all my hurts, all my wants, all my needs. All those things are gone, and there is just her and me. I’m not even sure if there is a me; I feel dissolved and peaceful. Whether it has been or not, I’ve always approached my life and lived it as a battle. I’m contrary and oftentimes lead by conflict for the sheer sake of it. There’s a nameless rage that rules my actions. But every winter, at a time like this, it dies, or goes into hibernation, and all I’m left with is…the cool. I slept all day today. I don’t even want to write this but I’m forcing myself to, so I can feel like I’ve done something. I’m not sure if I’m tired, all I know is that I don’t want to do anything. It’s all this vague feeling of being indistinct, of occupying that space in the clouds where one doesn’t differentiate between up and down. I’m worried too, not paralyzed by it, but watching my worry, as if it sits in nervous agitation across the room in my chair. When I imagine worry, I see my friend Valerie. She worries about me. Maybe not as much as my mother, but my mother hides it. She has to, because she knows if I know she’s worried, I’ll get upset. Val worries as she should, a nameless fuzzy worry. She’s not anxious as to whether I’ll do something to destroy my life or anything that drastic, she just doesn’t want to see me drop into serious melancholy. Or more accurately, for me to recognize my melancholy, one of the things that I do not confront in my life.

eeeemmmmoooooo.

So... I'm kinda lovestruck. Yep, nothing new in that realm: Keith meets girl, Keith instantly falls in love completely ignoring all outward signs of problems (gun toting boyfriends, horrific mental problems, obvious physical deformities). I will say with total assurance, which is like insurance but pertains only to the well-being of your ass at any given time (something too many of us ignore too often), that this is different. I reeeeaaallly like this girl, and we synch up like nobody's bidnezz. But more importantly, on the topic of assurance, and the well-being of my rectum. I AM SICK AND TIRED OF GETTING BLOOD IN MY FECES.

entry over.

I wake up this morning a little earlier than usual...abooouuut 530 or so.  Now granted, I don't stay up, but I certainly allow my head to wrap around the dream I just had...the excerpt thus follows for your enjoyment...

Let me just say for the record, that I'm not a big fan of Johnny Depp (already I can guess of where you think this dream is going...but unfortunately no, it doesn't go that way), nor do I have any interest in seeing the new charlie and the chocolate factory.  But why did I have a dream about it?  Well, it's because I secretly want to have sex with it.  That's right, the movie.  Not johnny depp, not any of the actors/actresses, the movie itself.  Not the film the movie is on, the idea of the movie.  I want to put my penis in it clearly.  So from this introduction I begin.

My friends Dan, Nick, and I are with Mr. Depp on the way down this vassssst elevator.  I wouldn't really call it an elevator, more of a metal shaft (hah shaft) that we're traveling down on this circular platform.  It is dead silent, and as far as we can ascertain, this is the end of the tour.  We reach the bottom, and are forced to dip our heads underneath a low gray ceiling.  Essentially, the entire experience is like walking in those illusory rooms where the ceiling and floor converge but everything looks entirely normal.  So we crawl out this tiny door and he essentially tells us to shove off and that's that.  Only, for some reason, that wasn't that.  We got all ornery.  We were gyped!  We wanted more chocolate factory to explore, so we devised several methods of tricking depp, or just getting back inside.  After much deliberation, we went with my plan.  What was my plan you ask?

'Let's just beat him to death with our shoes.' 

So we take off our shoes, tie the laces together, and make our way towards the good man's office.  We are greeted however, with a far more deadly weapon than mere shoes.  He has a giant catapult, and a giant supersoaker, filled with what I can only equate to poop.  After a long siege, we essentially give up and the dream is over.

Sorry kids, tonight's entry is not going to be all that funny. I just thought it necessary to say, that though I've been ragging on goddard and the whole experience pretty hard...I've actually met some pretty jawsome(little street sharks reference there) people. Becauase I'm most likely have/or am going to told/tell them about the website, I figured it's important to note both for myself and for them who these cool people are. The added twist will be, they will be ordered according to an arbitrary set of criteria I make up riiiiiight now. Wait let's do a list first (in no particular order...this time)
Donovan, Ben(ponytail), Ben, Jenna, Brandy, Suzanne, Matt, and Sarah. There are other people who are also very nice, namely Mike, and Julie, but I haven't spent any time with them so I have no ways of gauging whether they do in fact film shit porno in their rooms or if those banging noises really are the 'water heater.' Not important. So without further ado...the big goddard countdowns!!! (Oh and remember this internal order is by no means favoritism....after all out of like the assload of students here, these are the only people whom I wouldn't rather drown myself in a kiddie pool of semen than talk to.

The person whom I would share a six hour car ride in the back of a cab with...
1. Jenna
2. Donovan
3. Matt
4. Ben
5. Sarah
6. Ben(pt)
7. Suzanne
8. Brandy

The person with whom I would 'rock out'
1. Ben(pt)
2. Sarah
3. Suzanne
4. Matt
5. Jenna
6. Ben
7. Brandy
8. Donovan

Person with which to share a cup of coffee and a rainy afternoon
1. Donovan
2. Jenna
3. Brandy
4. Ben
5. Ben(pt)
6. Suzanne
7. Matt
8. Sarah
oh and we knew this one was coming, and yeah, especially for these people WHO HAVE TO DEAL WITH ME, PROBABLY FOR A FEW DAYS AFTER READING THIS, this is gonna be KINDA AWKWARD....
FUCK YOU GUYS. Yeah you're right, we may barely know eachother, yeah this could be awkward. But you know what. It's funny. It's quirky. It is has you say, how we 'do.'

PERSON WHOM I WOULD MOST LIKE TO HAVE SEX WITH DURING A DURAN DURAN REUNION CONCERT
1. Jenna
2. Brandy
3. Sarah
4. Donovan
5. Ben
6. Suzanne
7. Ben(pt)
8. Matt

Oh shit did he just say that? I mean won't these people judge him!??!!?

WHATEVA....I DO WHAT I WAAANT

Slayngren: cuz she's on the octopusred team
Slayngren: she's a good writer
Slayngren: and she's like all about it
Newoctopusred: hell yeah
Slayngren: she's like you guys are COOL
Slayngren: and i was like....pssshhht yeah
Slayngren: tried to play it off
Newoctopusred: hahahaha
Newoctopusred: oh no! she's on to us
Slayngren: yeah exactly
Slayngren: i was like shit shit shit
Slayngren: umm i'm also a professional wrestler and i own several banks that are operated by monkeys I trained while in NAM
 Newoctopusred: hahaha
Newoctopusred: well, did you at least tell her that i was a racoon trainer?
Newoctopusred: i mean, she should have some insight as to who i am
Slayngren: hahah nice
Slayngren: i will tonight
Slayngren: you can bet on it
Slayngren: i'll be like
Slayngren: oh yeah matt trains raccoons and does marathons
Slayngren: he's all famous and shit
Newoctopusred: haha, that's what i like to hear
Slayngren: oh and he shot the last unicorn
Newoctopusred: but make it believable
Slayngren: he's got it's horn in his room
Newoctopusred: i'm only famous in some circles
Slayngren: gotcha
Slayngren: the real hardcore runners
Newoctopusred: and yes, i did shoot the last unicorn
Slayngren: well unicorn buzzard
Slayngren: indigenous to......i dunno somewhere in candada
Newoctopusred: with help from my distracting racoons
Slayngren: i'll work out the details
Newoctopusred: i'm working on training them to be assassins
Slayngren: to assassinate who
Slayngren: that's important
Newoctopusred: i'm not sure, but they've already got the built-in masks, so i dont need to disguise them
Newoctopusred: i think they should give rabies to the new pope
Newoctopusred: unless jenna is catholic, then that probly wouldnt be very funny
Slayngren: nah she's not
Slayngren: that sounds good
Newoctopusred: ok, great
Newoctopusred: haha
Slayngren: rabies carrying marathon assassins
Newoctopusred: she passes test number one
Slayngren: i think we've really got something here
Newoctopusred: yes, i think we do
Newoctopusred: mwuhahahahaha
Newoctopusred: *cough cough*
Slayngren: *cough......cough*