you beautiful bastard

can you believe that a fucking ferry sunk a few days ago? 1000 people, dead, perhaps. its almost comical. one would hypothesize that the days of sunken ships were long forgotten, a mishap that just doesn't happen anymore. i guess not. Is it just me or have there been way more plane crashes lately?

why is it that we live in this fantastic age of instant communication but its still so fucking hard to get a hold of somebody? no one picks up their phone, email is inconsistent...the more advances we have the more we attempt to resist. im cool with that. i hate the mobile. little machines are attached to our ears, all day, every day, without fail. somedays- i just let it ring, and ring, and ring-fuck you, i'm not picking up, no matter who the fuck you are.

im angry. im anxious. im exhausted. im quickly approaching my maximum limit of santa barbara, what ill dub a phony bubble of white liberal america content with sameness and resistant to change. i cant understand how minorities live here. seriously. everyone is fucking white white WHITE, wearing the sickening perspective of disgusting contentment at the status quo--i cannot stand the deadness in this wasteland of wine, sex, and work, watching the malleable conform more to some sad generic standard of indifference. i am who i am, a disparate soul, socially awkward to such an extent it may be called revulsion, and i've lived out my term here, approaching a level of discomfort too soon, hungry for something more. high school sucked, college rocked, and i finished both sequences, but im still here, working in my uni town, figuring shit out, abhorring that tricky situation where ppl i havent seen in months begin investigating. "so youre still here man?" "yea, i guess." "that's cool man, im still here too, shit, 3 more classes and im done" "no im working" "no, moron. i fucking graduated, ON TIME. i just work here. Why? I don't know why. that's just the way things worked out i guess."

my room is so cold. i light candles to heat it up, but come on now, you and i both know they don't do shit. i like the smell though. paraffin wax.

ive come to terms with the fact that im just anxious, and in reflecting back on the past, convinced that i always have been, as long as i can remember, but definitely as far back as the 4th grade-a vivid memory of hitting my pelvic bone, then in 5th grade, running through math problems like some asylum inmate who's just been put into a straightjacket and finds that talking incessantly becomes his only form of resistance. im sick of it, but moreso, im sick of not knowing why im this way. im expending too much energy trying to discover what kicked it off, if some event or action triggered my behavior, but i cant find any. maybe im not looking hard enough, or maybe thats just the way i am and holy shit, maybe thats the way i'll always be. i find i difficult to subscribe to the theory that "life is just about trying to figure everything out" because some people are already there, and im moving, im moving, wondering if im coming any closer to the truth.

i gotta get out of here.