Whoo Hedonism!

Advanced Global Personality Test Results Extraversion |||||||||||| 46% Stability |||||||||||||||||||| 83% Orderliness |||||| 26% Empathy |||||||||||| 50% Interdependence |||||||||||||||||| 76% Intellectual |||||||||||||||||||| 90% Mystical || 10% Artistic |||||||||||||||||||| 90% Religious || 10% Hedonism |||||||||||||||||||| 90% Materialism |||||| 30% Narcissism |||||||||||||||| 63% Adventurousness |||||||||||||||| 70% Work ethic |||||| 30% Self absorbed |||||| 23% Conflict seeking |||||| 23% Need to dominate |||||| 30% Romantic |||||||||||| 43% Avoidant |||||||||||| 50% Anti-authority |||||||||||||||||||| 83% Wealth |||||||||||||| 56% Dependency |||||| 30% Change averse |||||||||||| 43% Cautiousness |||||||||||||| 56% Individuality |||||||||||||||||||| 90% Sexuality |||||||||||||||||||| 83% Peter pan complex |||||||||||||||||||| 83% Physical security |||||||||||||||||||| 90% Food indulgent || 10% Histrionic |||||||||||| 50% Paranoia |||| 16% Vanity |||||||||||| 43% Hypersensitivity |||| 16% Female cliche || 10%

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shamble shamble

after the door slammed behind you and you left my room and my life forever
i remembered the night before when i thought you looked happy asleep
on the couch and i remembered how that made me cry because
you were never that happy awake maybe if i remembered to clean the sink
this time we would love each other honestly that's what i thought
how sad is that? i knew it wasn't the sink though or the snoring
or the time i accidentally opened the cupboard too fast and hit your head
and you yelled at me and cried for two hours and left the apartment
while it was raining and i thought you crashed and died it was already 3 am
where the fuck were you? and i yelled at you when you got back
and called you a bad thing maybe two bad things but it was late
so we both went to bed pretty soon after that and i never got to say sorry
we just went to our favorite restaurant in silence the one we go to
every saturday morning and you always got the chicken
and i always tried something different until i tried it all
well it just so happened that day would be the last day
we would eat there together it would be the last day i would ever eat there
because i could never go back anyway there was only one dish left
i hadn't tried it was the chicken i said this was momentous
and you looked at me with tired eyes but a smile
that smile made me remember the time in the summer we went to the park
and i bought you some ice cream and you spilled it on your shirt
and got upset but then i thought what the hell
and smashed my ice cream cone over my shirt and we both laughed
and laughed on the park bench as people walked by wondering
who the hell these two lunatics were with ice cream on their chests
you said we should tell people we just escaped from the hospital
and needed pretzels and that made me laugh
because it was our little inside joke about the pretzels
nobody would ever understand about the pretzels
and i'm not going to explain it now
because you already know what i'm talking about
and i don't want anyone else to know as i heard your car drive away
i wanted to remind you to wear your seatbelt because you always forget
to wear your seatbelt and i always have to remind you
but then i realized again that you had just left my room
and my life forever so it didn't matter now if you wore your seatbelt
or not because if you got into a car crash today and died or not
i'd never see you again anyway

applecores and valentines

sleep
(is a) pillow;
in the mirror
she's not t(here)
friday night
tv + me
holding hands.
and? i don't ask
floating; beautiful
it hurts!
perfect-ly clean
beginning and (the)nd
finish i ash
the hounds are coming for me
help

The Universe

And so it begins
With the very first sparkle
BANG! we unfold forth

Pollen Counting on a Sunbeam

I used to get springtime allergies sometimes when I lived in California, but not too often. I get allergies in Texas every time the seasons change, and those last for about a week. But in the two academic years I've spent here in Philadelphia, I've never had to deal with allergies. For some reason, my nose and the air found each other rather agreeable here. I'd always been able to enjoy the springtime and sunny weather outside before.

Lo, the folly of man.

I woke up today, looked outside my window at the 80 degree weather, silently rejoiced, put on summer clothing, hopped down the stairs, burst through the double doors, took in a deep breath of fresh spring air, and promptly sneezed it back out. I sneezed uncontrollably all the way to class, sometimes violently. Passersby, strangers, felt the need to say, "Bless you," with concerned looks on their faces at every calamitous convulsion, every pollinated paroxysm. I sneezed so much and so hard, my throat felt ripped and dry from all the fast air coming out of my lungs, and it even made me start coughing for a bit. I could not stop sniffling; that is, if I did stop, I'd have to deal with a runny face. Not my best look, I assure you.

In the afternoon, I found time to buy some Claritin. It did nothing. The hya!choo-ing kept up, as did my marathon sinuses. They could have run for miles. I realized there was only one solution. I would have to convalesce. Invalidate. Stay inside. Wait it out. The pollen storm.

So much for enjoying the beautiful weather.

Oh, and if you happen to see me sneezing outside, please do not say, "Bless you," because it would be a lie, a mockery - for I am not as such, but verily the opposite - I am the cursed.

The Spring Fling Post

Thursday:
- can't remember

Friday:
- Sonic Youth
- can't remember

Saturday:
- can't remember

Sunday:
- trying all day to remember, and then forget

I Wrote This Before Ever Taking A Single Philosophy Class

There isn't one unique electrical impulse inside my cranium. My mental gears have been fashioned by the blacksmiths of great thought, and anything my brain's incessant rotations turn out has little or nothing to do with me, in an actual sense, and everything to do with those before me. No so-called thought, no neurological paroxysm crossing the miles of synapses in my head, is my own. Everything I know, understand, perceive, and observe about the world is irreversibly colored by the lenses through which I am required to focus in on the universe. These lenses are not of my making. They are the lenses of F.S. Fitzgerald, A. Einstein, B. Dylan, M.L. King, Jr., P. Picasso, S. Freud, everyone I've ever met in my entire life, television. If I were to remove these lenses I would be blind. The world would not just be blurry in a myopic sense. The world would disappear completely. The world would not exist. That is the essential significance of my borrowed thoughts, my hijacked brain. Is it possible for any man to use his own mind freely? How do we know the world truly exists before us if nothing in our cognition comes from our own selves? Perhaps the greats have been fooling us all, pulling the wool over our eyes. Perhaps nothing they have ever said has ever really existed. After all, their minds were equally borrowed from their predecessors. Perhaps nothing exists at all. My mind is not mine, and so what it tells me can not be trusted. In all practicality, I'm being told right now by my "inner voice" that the world exists, that I'm being completely illogical. But tell me why I should listen to this inner voice? It's not my inner voice, after all. Everything about me is stolen. There isn't one original thought in my brain. And so perhaps there isn't thought at all. And since me being requires me thinking (thank you, Descartes), that would mean, therefore, that I am not. I do not be. I don't exist. And neither do you. Neither does our universe.

So why am I still doing homework?

[1.28.04]

dialogue with God

by d.x. liu

one day i sat in my armchair,
     right by the Fireplace--
          it was night outside,
               and i saw a Face in the flames;

                              i asked:
                         why was i made?
               to feel? to be?
          i never asked for this;
     i never wanted this;

and God replied:
freedom raped reason
in the backseat of a car
and she birthed the absolute I

Dialogues

"It's fine, Gus."
"Are you sure, man?"
"Yeah, seriously, it's fine."
"I just want to make sure we're cool, you know? I wanna make sure we're still friends."
"It's fine, Gus. Really. I don't care."
"OK, Al."
"'Alan.'"
"Peace out, dude."
"Yeah."
Alan decided he hated Gus, and should avoid ever talking to him again. Gus never noticed.

* * *

"Hi."
"Hey."
"How are you?"
"Good."
"Well, it's been a while. How have you been?"
"I've been good, Alan."
"That's good. I've been good, too. I mean, I've been all right. I've been OK. Been about the same. You know."
"That's good."
"Yep. Listen. Can I apologize? I mean, would that be, you know, appropriate for me to apologize? Because I'd really like to. But if that's gonna be too much for you or something, or if that would offend you or make you mad, then, you know, I won't apologize. But I just want you to know that... I want to apologize."
"It doesn't matter to me."
"OK. OK. I see. Well, then, in that case, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Grace. I apologize for everything."
"Don't. It's not your fault."
"I know. I mean, but it is. But I know what you mean. I just hope you can forgive me, you know, for my part."
"I forgive you, Alan."
A pause.
"Grace. I think I'm still in love with you."
"What?! Please don't say things like that! I don't want to hear anything like that right now."
"I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. I didn't really mean it."
"Yeah. Well. Oh my God, Alan! I can't be here right now. This is just really weird. I'm gonna go."
"OK. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to sound weird."
"Forget it, Alan. Good bye."
Alan watched Grace get smaller and smaller and then disappear. He felt the emptiness of having arms just short of long-enough. They felt like chains. Grace calmed down. She knew Alan was lying. She thought he was, at least.

* * *

"I don't know what to tell you anymore."
"It's OK, Donald. It's not as serious as you probably think it is."
"I'm just worried for you, that's all."
"It just happens to me sometimes. Not all the time. You know that. You've seen me."
"I know, I know! But whenever I don't know for sure, I think you're being different. It's just hard to know for sure. Maybe I don't know Alan as well as I should."
"Trust me. I'm fine, Donald. I'm really fine. I'm not jumping out of a building tomorrow."
"I know that. Don't make fun of me. I just want to make sure you're OK."
"All right, sorry. Next week, though? No guarantees."
"Shut the fuck up, man. That's not funny."
"Just trying. Look. Thank you."
"For what?"
"Nothing. Just for you. Thank you. I really appreciate your concern. It means a lot to me. Thanks."
"Any time, man. That's what I'm here for. I'm here for you."
"Thanks."
Alan felt guilty for being annoyed at Donald. Donald knew he was being annoying, and appreciated Alan for not snapping at him. They became better friends, one out of guilt, the other out of appreciation.

Gibberish 2

A plastic bag glistens with epoxy on the branch of a sap. The roof will live happy ever after in the open air market place if walking canes all stop snapping at road signs. Her cosmic failure was to look through the mirror to the other side. The mind eats pieces of the universe like a child gorges on cucumber slices. Falling all around us are flakes of a Greek breakfast. Jay Gatsby and Benjamin Braddock threw a pool party, guess who body surfed? Relatively speaking, the guitars spin on their axes until bridges scream and hands munch on their own faces. Looking forward through the backs of my eyes, I see her dancing with the moon's wildly flailing arms before the sun explodes with red anger. Her mother is her doppelganger, her father faded into the Doppler Effect a long time ago. The liquid metal of my mercury lungs feels like quicksilver and tadpoles. She vibrates the crystal lattice of my heart. The street peddler sells acid trips for a penny and a glance. Red lighthouses on black backgrounds tend to ejaculate photons into chalk. Orange spoon like mango hot shoes/24 males magenta come lapping for balloons/Toward completely must we go/Palpable must we tomorrow. I scribble smoke, I write fire. An uppity robot receives glares of hate from behind as it strolls on Broadway. The difference is that the cup is finite. Doogs is dead. Puddles always dream on a silver screen. Non-deviant pornography. Phone booths. Wrist band. Mice. Sight. Sweat. Creativity. Chewing Gum. Coffee. Slim Jims.

A Lesson in Writing Fractured Metapoetry

Every poem I write
is a stolen conceit,
A drifting deceit
I nabbed off a random page
in my fictionalized autobiography,
Written with a broken pen
I got from broken dreams
that leak out of my ears
--just disappears--
in between the lines
that divide my life
into tiny little compartments
of a more manageable size;
It is not wise
to build towers
like a convenience store grab bag,
The whole thing will crack,
The bells will crash.

Thoughts

This is a song I just wrote while in the shower. I need to figure out a way to strum the chords so that I'm not ripping off Weezer and Tom Petty too hard, and I might also need to figure out a better way to sing it so that I'm not ripping off the Beatles too hard either, but maybe that's unavoidable.

It goes G/Em/C/D every two lines and then alternating D and two variations of D (open the little E string and then 3rd fret the little E string) for the chorus.

Thoughts are drifting through the air
Like dust across the sunlight streaming
Through an open window that I'm
Looking out unto below

The people are just smiling with their
Secret thoughts and private lives
They live together, far apart
All thinking the same thing

The sun is shining
The sun is shining

My mind gets bigger every time
I see you sitting, reading your book
Mouthing words like poetry and
Sitting under a big tree

They told me when I was a boy
The universe is still expanding
I'm afraid that I don't care
Because I only know one thing

The sun is shining
The sun is shining

Irony Defined

Thursday, I was in MGMT 237 class, Management of Technology, a class entirely made of Class of '07 M&T students. We had a guest lecturer, Ken Glass, an M&T alum. And it was amazing.

He came in and asked the class how many people wanted to be rich. (Hands went up.) How many wanted to be powerful. (Other hands.) How many wanted to be famous. (Hands again.) Then he basically said all of that was useless crap, and that the most successful people he's ever met have been so because they were happy, enjoyed their jobs, and lived well-balanced lives that had nothing to do with money. He told us the most important word to live by: passion. He asked the class how many people woke up in the morning and were excited and sure and knew what their passion was. Much MUCH fewer hands this time. Mine was one of only three. He asked me what my passion was. "Writing," I said. I think he might have been a little surprised. I know my professor and some other kids turned their heads too. But that's what passion is. It turns heads.

So right after that class, as other kids tried to talk to him more about his lecture, I left Huntsman Hall, silently thanking Mr. Ken Glass as I walked the distance to Towne 111, and picked up and filled out the transfer application to the College of Arts and Sciences, where I will most definitely major in Cinema Studies. Good bye, M&T. You're a wonderful thing to a lot of people, I'm sure, but you're not right for me. Ironic that your class on Thursday taught me that. Thanks for the math minor. No thanks for the superiority complex.

And for you sad souls who still refuse to believe what you're reading: No, this is NOT an April Fool's joke. I couldn't be farther from joking if I tried. My April Fool's prank has already been completed, and it involved a female thong and a phone number.