occasionally i get these little bursts of inspiration and just have to write it down. i'm sitting here, the morning after, in my roommates room, typing away on his computer, wearing the same clothes i was wearing last night, half awake, high on caffiene and bad breath from a still unbrushed mouth, hair unkempt, stomach growling. i'm sitting here typing a deliberate message. it has to be deliberate, right? i can sit here and hide behind the above sentance like a fool. i can go right on believing that i'm doing this because i gotta, but really i do it because i revel in the audience. isn't that how it is? you sit here and type and write the stories that please the audience. make'em happy, even at the detriment of your own happiness. stories about parties, everyday life, ect, no one gives a fuck, you write about romance, dating, insecurity issues, suddenly your comments and messages blow up (especially over on the real livejournal). it's all about exposing ones self. let the world read about your life so they can relate, let them read it so they can be entertained and comment on it, let them read it so the one person that you really don't want to read, but really do, does and knows the things that you couldn't or didn't have the chance to say in real life. put the anonymous note in the bottle and throw it over board. rip off your shirt and howl at the moon. ask the moon questions and wait for a reply. read too many tom robbins novels and fail trying to rip off his spontinaety with words. really, more that anything else, i write to understand and offer myself advice. for some reason, with the neverending problem which is entitled: girls, i have to write to figure things out. i'm not looking for sympathy, i'm not looking for advice, i'm not looking to show that girl that "look, i really do understand, see i'm awesome." no, no no, i'm not doing that. i'm writing myself a note, i'm reasoning with myself, i'm learning. it's the constant struggle, the neverending quest that man has wrestled with since the beginning of time, "WHY THE FUCK TO DO I KEEP DOING THIS? THE FUCK ARE GIRLS SO COMPLICATED? WHY THE FUCK DID SOMEONE THINK IT WAS FUNNY TO MAKE UNREQUENTED LOVE THE PRACTICAL JOKE OF THE UNIVERSE? WHY THE FUCK DOES EVERYONE HAVE THE SAME QUESTIONS, YET NO ONE HAVE THE ANSWERS?" or something like that. i'm making it up as i go along, so don't blame me if the shit ain't deep. if i was horse, i'd make a bigger pile. be glad i'm not a t-rex, after this we'd heve to go kill ourselves. man, when lorna dern sticks her hand in that big fucking pile of shit in jurassic park.... a story (and i may have told this one before, but not in this way): there is one person that was a part of my life that i can safely say, with confidence, that i was in love with. love. her name was jenny p. i met her when i worked at cellophane square in bellingham, wa. she was my manager, but not THE manager. we swiftly became friends and often traded stories and rumors of who would be the next hottest band. we'd spend hours at each other's places playing records for each other. i always marveled at how she rolled her cigarettes. eventually, i got fired from cellophane square for rollerskating while working, but that didn't deter our friendship, we only hung out more. sometimes days upon in days in a row. i knew from the moment i met this girl that i loved her. i knew it, no questions. i kept my mouth shut though, for about two years. there was always the ex/current boyfriend laying around. the one guy who she'd been in and out of a relationship with for years, her soulmate. one day, two years down the road, i told her. i couldn't take it, i said everything. maybe it was selfish of me, maybe it was stupid, maybe i shouldn't go around exposing my feelings to everyone, putting their lives and mine at risk, but i just can't help it dammit, i can't. it changed our relationship for a while. we didn't hang out and i spent nights, furiously writing in my journal and listening to jawbreaker's 'dear you' over and over again. one day she called. we started over, as friends. little by little it worked its way back to how it was, then it went further. at that time i had my own radio show on the western washington university radio station called 'rock the pink.' the show was from 2-5am, thursday mornings. i finally convinced jenny to be my co-host for a couple shows. on one of those nights, something happened. maybe we were drunk enough, maybe it was late enough, but at around 4am we kissed and never stopped. instead of playing songs, we were playing albums. we stayed until 7am, when the next shift arrived, and then went back to my house, the showoff gallery, and continued. that was our one night. we tried it a couple other times while i was in bellingham, but it never really went much further than a few kisses. we remained really good friends until i moved. she was still constantly in and out with her real boy. we knew there was something between us that we couldn't talk about, couldn't even address. it was too dangerous. fast forward a few months and i'm living in seattle, wa. jenny's coming down to see a show (it's either mogwai or blonde redhead). we meet and there's no denying it. in the course of the evening, we kiss, reveal to each other that we're madly in love with the other, and then cry when we realize it's never gonna happen. jenny is moving away with the boy. we saw each other one or two more times after that before she moved, each was an emotional rollercoaster. i havent seen or talked to her since. out of all the girls i've seen or liked in my life, jenny is the one that comes up the most, jenny is the reoccuring nightmare, jenny is the unrequented love. she and the possibilities she represents will always haunt me. it could have been amazing. it could have been tragic!, but i'll never know. i can't tell if it's the sweetest thing or the most depressing thing ever. so why the story? why not? sometimes it gets hard to sit here and whine and croon over current muses, or girls or whatever. i gotta call them muses. i wouldn't be here, spilling my heart out over this keypad if there wan't some lucky lady out there, confusing the hell out of me, making me shout damn at the moon and wave my fist in the sky. just because i'm writing this doesn't mean that there's a problem of any kind or it is or isn't serious, if it's working out or it's not, if we're gonna be friends or lovers. who knows? time will tell with those things. if i've learned anything, being the persistant, stubborn asshole that i am, is that. granted, i can't help trying to give it a nudge every once and a while, or two, or three, but that's just me, the local idiot, the girl retard. i'm totally retarded when it comes to girls, totally retarded. should i play cool, shoud i persist, should i call or not, i don't know. i don't know. i threw the rule book out long ago, and began on my long trek of failure, after failure, taking the trophies along the way. i'm sure most of your are reading this as sounding depressing, but i'm writing it with a smile. it's how i am. so be it. oneday someone will find the charm in it. the thing is to keep trying. so, i have a new friend, who's probably reading this (hi!), who i like. not to retard all over her, but it's true. at the same time, we haven't known each other too long, and i've gotta learn not to let my impatience get the best of me, i.e., paragraph four, line 5. there was another story i was gonna tell. another heart breaker, but with a different turn of events, but i feel like i'd be beating a dead horse, so i won't. i think story one gets the point across on it's own, and it sucks, and i know, and if you ever wanna talk about it, i'm here. in the meantime, i'll be over here in the corner, reading comicbooks, waiting for your phone call. there are a million adventures in the world, undiscovered countries, untrapped energies, waiting, waiting to be explored. ps i've had fun this week.