Hot month.

Maybe I can beat March this year.

173
I am on my way to 173.
Hell or high water,
it's where I will be.
I didn't see at the time
173 is perfectly fine.

I will stretch, I will confine,
I will melt, I will freeze-
Oh please, take me to 173.
I will run, I will swim,
I will define my goodness.
Oh please, take me to 173.

173 has the real me.
I want to be the true self
173
173
One seventy-three.

Hej hej,
Any

Never have I ever.

Never have I ever not wanted to smash someone's head in for sniffling.
Never have I ever thought or dreamt about my wedding.
Never have I ever not wanted to be famous.
Never have I ever ridden a bicycle.
Never have I ever read all of the books on my shelves.
Never have I ever truly realized how fortunate I am.
Never have I ever followed through on my major desires.
Never have I ever considered beer my drink of choice.
Never have I ever I wanted to die for something because I care for it so much.
Never have I ever had a full time job.
Never have I ever considered myself to be physically beautiful.
Never have I ever done drugs.
Never have I ever understood why I torture myself with desires and not do anything about it.
Never have I ever caused an avalanche.
Never have I ever written anything I have been completely satisfied with.
Never have I ever read my work in a public forum after the age of 14.
Never have I ever not wished I hated food.
Never have I ever not loved my family.
Well, maybe Kevin.
Never have I ever not thought something was wrong with me.
Never have I ever been brave enough to be committed to step into a new frontier without the aid or approval of my family.
Never have I ever wanted to cry more after writing this.

Hej hej,

Any.

North is better.

I don't understand all of these fruit fly gangs this year.
Isn't it weird at night: you look to the darkness of the East, but can still see the lightness in the West.

It still hasn't hit me.
I will be gone for a month.
In another country.

It will change me, but will I change for it?

A wonderful conversation- very brief- was sparked this early morn'. I have known this person for close to 6 years- we have had our ups and downs, but we are the closest we have been right now.

I said to her, "You know- it's so interesting to see how much people change when they go to college. I don't feel like I have done anything."

She said, "Don't feel like that. You knew who you were in high school, and you shouldn't feel obligated to have a dramatic change."

Strong statements.
Did I really know who I was 5 years ago?
Well. I was a water polo and swim jock addicted to pop punk.
4 years ago?
I didn't like water polo as much and liked swim much more and listened to screamo. AP magazine was my bible.
3 years ago?
I hated most of the people on the water polo team and only did it to stay in shape for swim. Fuck that pop punk and screamo shit. I loved electro.
2 years ago?
I worked a part time job at Baskin Robbins, used my tip money to buy NME weekly (my new bible, fuck Alternative Press). I only did water polo so it would look 'consistent' on my college transcripts. I hated everyone I knew at school. I cried. And cried. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I didn't want to read. I didn't want to do a damn thing.
1 year ago?
I loved rowing. That was my life. Didn't really stay in the loop with current events or new music.
And now?
Well- I am more confused than ever. I look back, and there isn't a damn thing that sticks out in my mind and makes me think, "You really know yourself, Any."

I really don't know who I am, who I want to be. There is this idealized visual in my mind and I don't know how to get to it.

Why the fuck am I griping about this shit here?
Good god.

TMI TMI TMI

Maybe I am bitter over the current events that have occurred over the last few months.
My prediction was partially true.

TOO BAD IT WASN'T PERTAINING TO ME.

nix
nix
nix
stop thinking about that-
don't let it consume you

i can't

yes you can

no i cannot

shut the hell up.
you can.

Hej hej,

Any

I went to an open mic night.

I didn't read. I sat. I sat in a big comfy chair.
Sank into it. And stared at the ceiling. Maybe laughed. Maybe flinched.
For the most part it was terrible.
But, it was an experience.
A new way I acquired inside jokes with friends. "Cops, cops, cops!" we yelled all the way home. "George, I think we're fucked up!"
He looked like charlie Bartlett. He really, truly, did. Except, not as cute of course.
Twisted poetry. I think he was a captive of a cult as a young child.
Another Capricorn was there. They were drunk. It was unlike them to read, and sing, and be themselves. How enlightening/endearing. Maybe next time I will come more prepared.
Maybe I will read.
Maybe I won't.
Probably not.
I'm a wuss. And I suck. And I don't make much sense.

Hej hej,

Any

I thought I felt a spark.

Instead, I had a fire in my head. My mind began to melt. I didn't know what to do.
The burning inside of me was so much, it made me blind.
All I could do was keep going.
All I wanted to do was lay my head down. Lay my head on the table and let it smolder. Let it die. Let it turn to ash.
But I had to keep going.
And promised to.
But my promises can be lies in overpriced Martha Stewart suggested gift-wrap. Promising sounding promises.
So, should I keep going?
Or give in and let the fire die?

Die, fire, die.

Hej hej,

Any

This world. I don't even.

Very informal.
As usual.


I saw an amazing(ly written) play last evening. It is Brian Friel's "Translations." The acting, not so good. The play itself- very powerful and moving.

I didn't come here to write about the play, though. Of course not. It would be very uncharacteristic of me.

I wanted to write about my bus ride home.
I noticed a very handsome fellow sitting on the back of the bus with two of his friends, engaging in what I would imagine a very silly conversation. There were moments where he would stand up at stops, spread his arms out wide and flail them like a madman, jump around the seats. From what I could tell, he was a very animated fellow.
He wore a light blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled half way up his arms and khaki pants- I didn't note anything else as I was greatly concentrated on his actions.

It was two stops until I had to get off, and he exited with his friends right in front of the QFC by Urban on Broadway. I caught a clear glimpse at his face- his lovely features. The most vivid were his amazing blue eyes, which immediately triggered a memory.

I had seen him before.

"I have to tell you something at the next stop," I yelped as he and his pals exited the bus.

"The very next?" my friend quizzed me.

"He is the guy I saw on the lightrail from the airport back in to town after Spring Break!"

He was, indeed. I never thought I would see him again. I figured, Seattle is fairly heavily populated, what were the odds I would see him again? I have butterflies recalling it.

"I guess I will be riding this bus aimlessly for the rest of my days in Seattle," I mumbled.

"Just to stalk him and see him again?"

"Hey! I will talk to him if I see him again. I will! Three times means the cosmos are pulling us together."

Ah.
But, would I? Would I really have the guts to say anything to him?



The sad reality is I probably wouldn't. You know how I am. He'll no longer be that nameless man from the Lightrail that I have happened to see twice on public transportation in my life. Maybe that is all he is good for: Another fantasy for me to forever remember.

Hej hej,

Any

P.S. Every damn post on this blog is the same. What a writer I am.

Foolish.

Fuck being sick.


Now I just want to die.
I haven't accomplished a damn thing. Not a damn thing. I recall all of the opportunities in my life where I was asked to participate or apply for something, and I always thought:

Too much time
I'm not going to get it
They aren't going to like me

And guess what?
It is because I don't like hearing the bad news of, "No- you're not what we are looking for," or "Sorry, but we will keep you in mind."
And I am a fool. A god damn fool for all of the shit I have passed up.

I could probably be a prominent writer.

Instead I am sitting in my room with the blinds down and tears rolling down my cheeks.

It's too late.

I'm going nowhere. And I hate myself for being so foolish.

Hej hej,

Any