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Nov. 28th, 2009 @ 12:53 am
I'm so much less confused no. Although it feels as though benassi
Modal like jazz-- I'm sitting. Is this avantegarde, rrittling words among a chaos.
I don't know what art I can make of it. If what they are is order and that order is moral order, then they can get the fuck out. I thought I was an orator whose

There is a cat with no exccuse in my arms, pawing, from the ninties. She came just at their decade was about end and out some symbolic meaning oon the cat oressy=ureung mh
Th cat began ti and manioukate, The workers in the factories don;t matter gbecause if these wawords are eveil and exposed in journay. But wel

By th day I was one of the most effext line chefskm,I once had a patatent. A small hope.I wanted by rubber to go thr

Out there, over the painbow Oct. 4th, 2009 @ 08:17 pm
I have to print out a full copy of a mid-summer's night dream. Hrmf


( Nicole! If you're out there, I found you somewhere else! )

Sep. 19th, 2009 @ 12:37 am
This can't be job training, because it isn't paid.
I am not doing this because it is intrinsic to the process,
though the establishment's place in the sequence is logical.
I am just enjoying the academia.
I am faced with nothing but surprise that I have not found anyone here at school.
Encountering friends that you truly identify with and understand is a rare, rare occurrence.
The notion that it could happen in high school is downright absurd.
So how is it that now,
amid a center of intellectual interest,
I can find but one or two people
and am consistently appalled by the rest.

I don't belong in New Hampshire, and I wish I could transfer to a land more interesting.

I think I am going to Spain in the spring.

Jul. 19th, 2009 @ 01:09 am

3/3
I'm not going to disparage loads upon loads of people who are my friends. Don't force it
I am
1) sitting in a car, harrassed in the back by the flaxey granberry learning from he, from sean, an idea so lively that it shouldn't be heard on or in the face book! I dipped my head down and back up to see sean discussing the levels of avuirdupois, nor to be leveled, but distributed, Simply here on the tail-- Sean has a genuine respect 
                                                          for chubby
                                                         for chubby

But that line of confusion grew with greatness in the trunk of a four seat Honda Accord,
I have tumbled out of the car because I am not on my favorite long all alone

I take the concrete seriously, or took I suppose. The Concrete, less lightly, took the abstract notion of I.
The concrete brilliantly exists because of an existence. Certainty is certainly not dead

The concrete exists because when there is a space with something in it, a ratio appears it goes like this:
                           Nothing:Something            and that has always been the case
but what is new is the application of that onto rocks. Abstraction and Nothing are in danger of becoming synonomous-- you should be wary


This is my last day here on the journal for a while. I rediscovered this internet cove a few days ago by chance, by a rustic field trip through the pipelines of my inter-modern journal day mall. and sitting and shitting here doesn't have to be coherent or perfected.
I am writing a book, livejournal, for yours, a chapter or two, with lines of words marching into the city gate. And they will be strong, have no fear, Livejournal, the book of our lives. Our personal autobiography.

Out more boring shit in your autobiography. Because on the way you'll end up have some misventures,

You dawdling children will wait your return, no turning back,
The flash
Don't worry, this is the stirred storm gate. The keep will return in a few days to clarify what I have done.
Is this all you are trying to understand? I can hear it like a crackle or a whisper, a muffled theory that the listener won't focus on because they have too many of their own,
Back to what I have done
is like an eighteenwheeler breaking down at three am, completely blossoming open, products strewn, nothing too much damaged. Some tourretic tics, an old organ, a laptop that doesn't do it for you, the you of yesterday,

And what do I do with the single thing
the difficulty in admissions to people who mustn't care too much to care,

The problem arises again that immediately upon publicization, your words and thoughts are nothing but out there. And they are out there for people to interpret. Fuck the crits, when the reading Bourgeoise hoover the punctuations out from the very corners of their sitting rooms, I will be free, vindicated.

Then I can find that avoirdupois-waddling grease fuck with the pigs-in-blankets outfit scheme and either offer him a toast or knee him in the head and scream and hit myself on something too, as a lone girl watches with her books.

Grow growl growl

I hope you are sufficiently sufficient

I am not coming back here for another  mpteen months.

Chow

Jul. 18th, 2009 @ 02:16 am
Day Two, readership low. This box is as good as any, but for some reason lately I can't conceptualize my words going into fat 200 page boxes or stout 14-lined boxes. And after I have ruled out all of my boxes, no outlet for the Sake of Sam, the words go on existing. Which hurts. It's like having a throbbing erection you can't seem to calm or have a way to calm because noone's around and your hands were lopped off in the war. And on top of that, most people would hide their pulsing cock in embarassment. Unsheath your green swords and run through the halls of Dover High with you tripodal anxiety flailing between hamhocks one and two.

But when I arrive here, at my internet box, I feel good because I have an immediate audience; I suppose I am, at this point, presuming an audience [in a least-possible-pretentiousness way]. Everything I write, I write with a casual sense of belonging: either a bemused point-and-laugh "ha, that came out of me" rather than "that came from a tugboat's hull" (If only I were a tugboat, the seminal writer of tugboat literature), or a "this belongs to me." Both are common, both suffer from disorganization. They drift on boxes that I've found and scribbled them on. Most of these Vagrant whisps are noones but my own. The ones that do make it here have on them a stamp of recognition, a stamp that says "Act so you can be reacted to." And that is why this is important to me and could be to you.

Though I question the population of these dusty squares, though they are still simmering, being checked up on by a few close buddies, by historians interested in the sixth-grade-me, a wonderful and glowing concept she is; I'll save you the trouble and answer you: Nowhere.

Here is best because I don't need things to cohere, I need to be heard [again, in the sans-agression way] And I am not one way. But I don't want to have to file for you in the abreaction ward, squirming about uncle Lester, just coming over to baby sit, watch a movie, then the touching then the touching then the touching.

Here is best because I can check facebook at the SAME TIME!

What a world.
How much different would it look if I went to Romania? Off my plane into the terminal, high celing with sky lights, moving sidewalks, cute girls next to styrofoam cups. I wonder if the coffee's any good. I don't drink it much, mostly with friends who happen to lose function without coffee.
The People, El Oamenii! There will always be bad apples, jerks, slouchers, slackers, and those who can pick up the moral and send el Oamenii flying.

Maybe a nice Romanian hard liquor for the road, breathing heavy and tumbling saying things that you, for the first time in your life, believe with all your heart, but it lasts a second and the memory is gone. You sputter and cry out another truth, which your audience will ignore because its higher concern is the terrible vomit-strewn mess you've become.

Also, they don't speak english.
Other entries
» (No Subject)
Appreciate tasks while you have them, because making them for yourselves requires Neal-Swainian effort.

I have often had dreams in which my role is that of a statistician. Before and after Psych Stats. The dreams only seem more fleshed now that I'm number crunching with Chi Square and Z tests. It most often occurrs to me, in the dream, in instances where a statistician would be useless and I sort of lose it. It never registers with anyone else that I'm an expert.

My cat has pissed on almost everything I own. If the perfume of the decade was humidity-saturated cat urine and protein powder, I'd be rolling in the babes-- at least for the prime of my life. I have always been half expectant of terrible odors to come after fourty, mostly from my experience with a semi-elite codger from Germany in the summer of 2007. That bastard may have three degrees and tenure, but he smells like shit. I bet as soon as cat piss goes into fashion, my cat will die of a ruptured bladder, damming up all the cool, sexy, hot.

But at least I have the survey center, Right? Twenty hours a week at a rate fifty cents lower than some promises. I don't mourn all the dicking off I do, no matter how high and officially the Director speaks of results. My small little poems and drawings mean more than their results.
My Results: passed between a cubicle wall a few times, in blue pen and graphite.
It goes Me, Neal B. Swain, Me, Neal B. Swain and so on...

In Porridge Bottom, thatched roof tops
Wait for Tired Eyes to gaze at their strands
A Walrus lives there, yes he does
Amongst cold hope and Dreams
His Wive's Pet Peeves he could name them all, but none of his son's he knew

The Thatches Above constrict and bind and forget what's within
Dad Walrus caught son jerking off and told him it's a sin.
Mom Walrus sits and whines and whines and shits on sins of them

But in came Narwhal! A Bright, happy chap, through the thatched roof
and tears and fears and lost desire rain down into space!

Oh Narwhal you stupid fuck!
The dadddy Walrus cried
cool it dude, I'm tryin to help
Sir Narwhal did reply

And as the Walrus and the Narwhal fell
The Binding thatch unbound.

a Masterpice coddled in an appleskin, that is. There is a Lioness in the den of the survey center who is trying to eat me. Eat me becasue I exist as a productive entity and the survey center exists as a producing entity and the productivity I produce does not match a quoata productivity to make an ultimate product and it would somehow seem that the average proportion of productivity taken from the prouct may not match mine. She sees this, but she does grunt work just like me and doesn't see that upstairs, where they write the studies, THe men with the big boots and hats don't care about proportion contributions to product, so long as the product exists.

I just want to read while I survey.

Do you recall, as a child, your perception of living scored close to finding something you like, then finding a proffesion that holds your likes. And then you make big decisions from there on how to become, say, a vet, And you had that goal and maybe a few others-- clean up the creepie crawlers or clean up play doh.
Does this directional clarity exist for any of you? Or do you find yourself realizing you've made a choice without a thought, that change may shift your direction. How do you deal?
How do you deal with the inevitable thoughtless choice?

Summmmmmer in the city
Means Cleavage Cleavage Cleavage
and I start to miss you
baby sometimes
I've been stayin' up
drinkin' in
late night establishments
tellin strangers
Personal things

So of the fair constituents, I've covered it all, the broken shulder approach
now an update from the contemporary.

Acupuncture today with Mary Beth was a very enjoyable experience. Relaxation.
Tension. I got little writing done. For Shame, and some whereelse but here?
At least I didn't sacrafice my only son.
Jul. 17th, 2009 @ 01:47 am
» (No Subject)
I am tired, but never too tired to walk. Never too tired to sleep.

I was just admiring the complexety of a situation. And yes, I mean in abstract and in concrete layers. Situation as in, to be a minimalist, the moment and the affairs surrounding that moment. The setting of a moment. And in the other way I mean to say that my situation is unemployment.

But what I have come to appreciate is the web of reasonings that a situation can give, and how brief the life of a reason might be, they leave tracers and fossils.

After some dutiful thinking I have deemed it inconsequential and irrational -- a word I feel comfortable using refering to my rationale, not that of an unnamed whole (you're asses are safe)-- to work at all.
So I will leave you with lots of a


xxXxx

explicative de;eted
Jun. 4th, 2009 @ 01:04 am
» Livejournal? The lost Ecstasy?
This is like creeping into an old room that I've moved out from and there are stains on the floors around where the couches used to be.

I figure that I might as well ping into a dry tube of the internet to let myself know I still can talk to myself with people listening.

I figure. I figure I don't know who I am talking to, but I know exactly who is reading.

So here we go. I've completed my first year of college with scary prospects of four more years. I am applying to a Bachelor of Fine Arts program next year with an intention to concentrate in painting. I also am going to be majoring in English, which is the reason for an extra year. Besides, If I show any trends in the cycles of multiple sectors in public education, my good friends will be a year younger than me. Because I have already had a year to dick around and make mistakes, though I have no doubt I've been dicking around earlier.

Here's a challenge: Spend a day without doubt. You find yourself having to make a single choice and that is whether you should not doubt what goes on inside or what goes on outside. And neither seems moral.

Now I am unemployed and looking. I can always fall back on the survey center, but I always retract from the place with uncertainty and just sheer annoyance. I hate being in a basement talking for hours to people who don't really care, who wouldn't take action on any of the topics they may appear to be charged with emotion on. In that way, I almost appreciate the people who hang up on my face more. 

I want a job at a hotel or on a cruise ship making cranes out of plastic straws or dogs out of napkins for the classy customers. Something consumed with minutia and repetition, but weaving the illusion of creativity. I would do it for a month as a vacation.

I can't tell if my sleeping habits are healthy or not, I'm getting more lost. 

More poetry. Give me poets.

Jake is volunteering at Special Olympics. Good good.

But I'll end soon. I was just spinning around in a dusty pipe, mumbling in a hoarse voice. No-- singing Tom Waits ballads on a detuned piano.

Be sure to find me.
I want you to find me.
And we'll play all over,
We will play all over again.





May. 17th, 2009 @ 11:43 am
» (No Subject)
Diminish the use of modifiers and the beginning of anything will lighten and capture.

I hope.

Happy Christmas all.
Dec. 24th, 2008 @ 10:35 pm
» And out of the dust comes Sam

This is similar, but not entirely like, walking out of a cave and being blinded by the light

or into a cave and being blinded by the black.

AN UPDATE, FOR SPACE TIME AND THOSE WHO STOP TO READ

what is good is that

1) the radios are down, and my booming fuzz is just white noise.
2) my future is going somewhere, a theme park which involves a pit of debt
3) nothing matters?
4) the world is ending, and I'm having a party. You are all invited.
5) I am angry at myself for being un-productive.
6) Sparks?
7) I am scribbling more often.
8) I'm not scribbling enough
9) Music is needing more, but going well. I hope to be a great guitarist one day.

and that's it. 
Good bye jeans.

Jan. 28th, 2008 @ 10:28 pm
» (No Subject)

ZAP! It is time for this outlet to come to use again! even if it is faded glory.
This is what I have to say:

  • I have much too much on my plate.
  • Band Slide Show.
  • English Paper.
  • Events over this weekend.
  • Band Practice.
  • Memorial Day service.
  • Grandparents soon.
  • Graduation is arriving quickly.
  • Midsummers has ended. Literally, Two senses. Symbolicaly, One sense.
  • Spanish project.
  • Finals.
  • Grades= sub-par.
  • St. Pauls this summer. Though I will be missing many gigs, which I feel ugly and terrible about, I am looking foreward to this enormously.
  • I need to get back into a diet-exercise routine.
  • Lesiure?
  • Sanity?
  • Soul?

I also want to work more on my writing. I have a short story planned. I plan to tune and tweak this one until I feel it is perfect. I have so much I would love to write. Where is the time. So even though I am done with the primary preformances of this poignant year, I have still got a platefull. Wish me luck, for tonight we dine in Hell! 



May. 21st, 2007 @ 10:27 pm
» (No Subject)

Livejournal is faded glory. 

I am tired

Thats it


May. 19th, 2007 @ 01:36 am
» Thus Spoke Rheaume
You know what, I am going to post. 
I have not for real in a while.
I figure as long as I do it for self-meditation, it is worth the ten minutes.
The only true comments I have pertaining to school has to do with fatigue. 
I am, and I am sure many others are very tired.
England is in umpteen days, and I am excited.
I am now reading, along with A Farewell to Arms and all of those short stories, Thus Spoke (spake) Zarathustra by Fredrich Nietzsche.
I am also planning on maybe buying a wii aft my england expenses are cleared. 
I am also planning on hopefuly taking the AP exam, but who knows.
I am also planning on attending the ASP at St. Pauls this summer. 
For this, I am most excited.
I also found the following in various other people's journals. It will be the first I have done in a year almost, but I figure it to be a benign retrospection in the least.
I need one because I am forgetting how to be who.
Ah Bartleby

Mar. 27th, 2007 @ 07:36 pm
» (No Subject)
I wish red would stop attacking me and the purple would do more defending.

I wish I remembered how to shave

I wish Life didn't have a 98% grade

I wish I had climbing equipment
Mar. 18th, 2007 @ 09:10 pm
» Movie
Who wants to go see a movie. Comment if so.
Mar. 17th, 2007 @ 12:10 pm
» (No Subject)
OK, ERIC LOUCKS, TYLER BURDWOOD, MICHAEL HOLLAND, And MYSELF and a Jake are forming a band. We were originally going to be called ONE TRICK HORSE, but have decided to take a poll as to a name. Vote for as many as you like, do not go overboard. Go with the one that snags your attention and is most memorable.


The numbers are the current number of votes.

One Trick Horse:0
The New Tricks: II
Tim and the Unblockables:0
The Unblockables: III
Jedi and Gentiles: I
The Jeditiles: I
Androids and Activists: V
Vandabrought and the Unblockables:I
The Blackwater Hobo Gang: III
Snicker Bar Cheese Cakes: I
In Orbit: VII
The Sweatervests: III
The Leg Hair Impossibles: I
Feb. 12th, 2007 @ 09:11 pm
» (No Subject)
TONIGHT OPENS THE SHOW, LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS

Exclusively at the Dover High School Auditorium!

I Do hope you will all come and join us tonight and/or tomorrow at 7PM
Or Sunday at 2PM!
6 Dollars for adults!
5 Dollars for students and senior citizens!

Come and have a great time, it is a sincerely funny!
Feb. 9th, 2007 @ 03:40 pm
» Jigoku

Theo, Jigoku is way too weird.

Eat the Pork!
Drink The Booze!
Pork!
Booze!
Booze!


oh my goodness..........


Jan. 28th, 2007 @ 08:37 pm
» (No Subject)
I love this weekend. You do NOT have to worry at all on the weekend after midterms. Greatest feeling ever. I want to say, my friends are seriously great. I slept of at Andrew's on Friday, and fell asleep watching the Spanish cahnnel. Then When I woke I got to pet Lucy and stuff. then I went to set build at LITTLE SHOP, which is coming on smashingly and everyone should see the play. after that I hung out with Tucker Julia Tyler George Nicole and Kelly. That was incredibly fun. we went to Barrington and played on the playground and watched the office and went on a huge walk and watched the brave little toaster. We assigned everyone a character of the brave little toaster. Tucker was the radio. Tyler was the Toaster. I was the Lamp. Kelly was the blanket. George was teh sour Vacuum. Nicole was at soccer and julia was the radiator that explodes in the first ten minutes of the movie. I wish my uncle was a pirate like Andrew's uncle. Ah, well....
Jan. 28th, 2007 @ 12:48 am
» (No Subject)
I need out.  OUT OUT OUT. OUT OUT Out. 

I want a scenery change. Things are melting. ITs like watching a flower die in front of your eyes. And it pisses me off. Maybe that is why I have been such a negative nellie lately. I am sorry for today at lunch. I pretty much called Christians killers. I did not mean it as a generalization, I just was refering to history. I think I upset some people, as well as myself. I didn't intend generalization. I think I clarified that. I hope no one is offended. I Am going to go far away and be a writer maybe. I will see. I am just done with highschool.

Today in Spanish we were answering questions for our oral exam. A question he asked someone is "what have you learned at DHS" and I could safely say 'nothing about life'.  

so I want to go learn about that. 
Last time I tried I was denounced
and boughs of mental torment
were nicely handed
on a plate 
lined with cubic zirconium.
Thanks

So here I Try
again and agian.
To just go, but again,
what teaches restricts.
7 and a half hours
plus 3 more of frivolous chore
does not foster
for some self discovery
Thanks
Jan. 22nd, 2007 @ 07:25 pm

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