It is 2009. It's my 23rd year. I haven't posted a journal entry since 2006. I'm sitting in my room right now, with the lights out. I look at my books and am reminded of the work i have to complete by Thursday. I am also reminded of the Dana Gaines article entitled "Teenage Wasteland." It is a true account of four teenagers who committed suicide in a garage (Bergenfield, NJ). The article is very descriptive and captures the fatalism and sheer despair that all four "burnouts" felt before the pact. I've been trying for the past week or so to figure out why they did what they did. I've been trying to feel what they felt. But to no avail. And no psychological, sociological, anthropological (fuck! even a statistical) offering suffices. It's just like... they did it together and that's that! Deal with it. I guess i will have to . ..

I probably should be purusing Facebook or Myspace right now. They are so tReNdy* after all... so "in", so "cool". Someone told me a couple of weeks ago that they thought it was "sketchy" that I owned no Myspace or Facebook account (which this person appeared to equate with having no friends). Totally not true. I actually do have a Facebook account, but I use it in a different way... strictly to lurk behind the scenes... which also happens to mirror the way I behave in life. I'm "the lurker". Yep. The lurker. And who the hell needs friends anyway? I've always been told they are liabilities. Especially now. In this consumer culture where people develop identity through the clothes they wear and the objects they collect (people included). Who the hell needs that? Folks, I like keeping it real nowadays.

I was on the subway platform today (waiting for the six train), and I saw a man tweaking against the wall. His eyes would not stop rolling into the back of his skull. He also swayed a little... to the right and to the left (his right and left, not mine). Back and forth. I felt bad. I wanted to help. He looked normal. He would have been had it not been for that tweaking thing. I also saw a boy with no arms. He's been at this same platform for months. I gave him my lunch money in April. That was the last time i gave him money. I couldn't starve for him, as bad as i felt. Whenever i pass him on the subway platform, i avert my eyes out of shame. I don't want him to know that I have money that i'm not willing to give him. I want him to think that i'm so busy that i don't notice his presence. It works with everyone else. Actually, just between you and me? The kid with no arms is probably the only person who knows i exist. Ssssh! Don't let the others know this. And count your blessings, peeps.

So where am I? Hmmm... i'd like to know. Really, I would. Please enlighten me if you know the answer to this.

I purchased a camera which i am going to return to the store due to the fact that it refuses to flatter me in any way. As if i didn't know already that i'm hideous to look at. I mean, really.

I went to a thrift store and purchased more of the "thrift-look". I think it suits me well, don't you think? That American Eagle/Abercrombie/DKNY/FCUK mainstream crap just don't fly with my body,demeanor,chakhras, whatev. Word. You know what? I look better in trash... lots of it. All over my body.

Anyway, this is my tribute to William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury. I read it, like, a bajillion years ago. Ready? Ok, here goes.

i want to touch him
Leading me on. I think he's leading me on.
PERSON: todd, thanks for the help!
TODD: no problem.
PERSON: so i'll see you tomorrow?
TODD: Sure, okay.
PERSON: Thanks. I really appreciate this.
TODD: No problem.

It's a fairy tale that i embrace in my mind, in my head, that i clutch. Clutch. That I clutch. It's mine to keep. No its yours. No its mine. I swear. its mine. Mine. All mine. You can't have it. Yes i can. No you can't. Fuck you. Leave me alone. alone. alone. all alone. alone. Good bye. But wait? Is that the moon? Yes. Yes. It is the moon. Thank you moon.

And thank you for reading this entry, posted in 2009, in my 23rd year.

Truly yours / yours truly