User Profile

(if you want to contact me with the above means,
take out the E in front of AIM or ICQ ie. Em1z3ri ...just use m1z3ri. i'd like to, as a concession to myself, evade the search database.)
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ok that was a super-friendly announcement...
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And so I told you... that anything was possible right?
I have opportunity.
People who I used to compare myself to, are lost in the dust.
What it means to me? Opportunity for intellectual growth in my 8-6 (7,8,9?).
Ok work seems to own you, one way or another, until you realize that
you can set the mental boundaries. On the plus side, might
as well do something fun, instead of dancing with mops, like I once did.
Ok I didn't even dance, I daydreamed, and mopped thoroughly.

Sometimes you have to stop writing, stop whining, shut the fuck up (yes even you),
and focus. Other times, there's no one to vent to, and so you arrive
at your livejournal, pissed off, and you write, the same old way you've
always written, same old thing that have made you feel better.
Same person that understands - no one.

Sometimes its funny, to encounter journals which all seem like my (isolated) struggle.
But mostly, its good to know the world shares my concerns, even if its not always obvious.
Truthfully, I'm pissed, stop jacking my ideas! I'm the only sad abstract person in the world, got it?
Stop disproving the root of my pain.

I guess the truth is, its easy to complain about everything, often more difficult it is
to complain about something in particular. Cause something in particular,
bothers us "feeling" types so much sometimes that it's almost unjustifiable,
beyond proper illustration, and its usually an accumulation.
And they'll sit around and tell you, to stop crying, and keep going.
What they fail to understand is the poetry helps you keep going.
Its why you finally shut up and move on. You've finally said something.
Even if its only out loud.
I think poetry, in itself, is the struggle to say what you really want to say, and nothing more
and nothing less. Emceeing is the desire for perfection, its the perfect way to channel
your anger into eloquence. Say something, move on, and say something more.
Sometimes we talk too much, but how do you get your point out, if you never say shit?
How do you know what your point is, if you dont have a place to think out.
My point is, that I'm strong, that I can take my weakness,
drop it in writing, and make it sound strong.

That strength is what I need, til better days come. Til my emotion is rewarded
and my efforts acknowledged as those of a talented person.

With some people, you'll never hear their concerns, but sharing is a part of life,
I think people who write, have a desire to share something with other people,
but dont know how, or what it is. Writing is selfish, but it also gives
something to someone, however imperfect it is. And lets you walk away.
Even if the person fails to accept it, you still have something to show for your effort.

So keep writing.. til you get to that safer place, to that better moment.
Til you hear yourself reflected back at you, properly.
And even if I think your shit is wack, thanks for your communication.
If we all sat around in silence, and played pass the potato, day in and day out,
we wouldn't be able to know how far we've evolved, through language.

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----------------KNOW YOUR ENEMY--------------------
I AM NOT YOUR ENEMY--------------------------------
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Alright, I'll be honest, I'm not very direct when it comes to myself. Maybe it's that little monkey on my shoulder guffawing at me as I'm about to disclose my wretchedness or about to ineffectively summarize my being, a little monkey which, mind you, is a figment of my imagination, as most little monkeys are. Big monkeys, now that's another thing. I guess we're all pretty big monkeys to each other. Notice how I didn't talk about myself at all, but talked about monkeys? I did. Words can make some profound points; that I am aware. And now I tumble awry from the point. What was the point? Oh right distracting the reader. Distracting the reader is my intent.

Ideally I'm sitting there thinking... I'd really like to capture the essence of external and internal periods in my life. Then again, while I'd like to convey and share the gist of things cause there's something so inspiring and wholesome about profound gists, I notice that I altogether really would rather not. Somehow that little monkey suggests to me that it's really not so wholesome, and somehow even suspiciously unwholesome. So my halfconscious veers this overeager three-wheeled bicycle and tries it's best to defer me from any points and still convey something, and sometime talk about what it is that I'm not actually worrying about, or what strides through nonchalantly. Often, I find, I use it just to fulfill random and often similar purposes, so I hope you take it with a grain of salt, and as always, don't be too quick to assume, cause you don't want to pull the wool over your own eyes before you even get started with me - that's like one blindfolded pig strolling through a sausage factory in too damn good of a mood, (though perhaps I could perceive myself that way). But you should really take that as a subtle threat. Life is no fun when you take what's given. All in good fun though, truthfully.

I don't like to look back on things, so this could never really be anything that brought anything really, flooding back. Ideally I'd like for it to be a trail of hints, but it likely would never be that cause that's a little too much forced consistency, doesn't make much sense either if you think about it, cause but one trail it really never is. Can make it a sample of things, but that'll be just forcing versatility. Events? Events with significance, I'm avoiding... Really for the most part, the reader's not any focal point, and I'm rather talking to myself, in tune with.. "As a side-thought.." Trying to write something down.

So, I'll let my need or desire for it define it.

June 16, 2003

if you want my bio, this always has been and is, it...
"SUCCESS is my ONLY MOTHERFUCKIN OPTION, FAILURE IS NOT"
thats my life story.

April sometime, 2003


Heh... I've just read over this journal, looking to see what it says... but really.. making sure, cause of the publicity, that I never portray anything... of real depth... that i never step across my borders of comfort... shit what do you expect? it's all right there.... sitting on the web... all blind optimism aside, let's be realistic for a moment... And hah, i realized what this journal instead is.. a very corny side of me... I treat it like i was young and if it were a friend that a child would speak to in that loud tone "HII.. Guess what I DID TODAY... so i went to the pond... and then the barber... and he told me i was cool and gave me thiiis"... a nice healthy defense mechanism state that i have in my possession and use frequently.... true escapism.... though not quite as informally as i do in here.. i have a strange writing style in it.. kind of anal... but really, what do you expect it's a public journal... It's me talking to pass the time...

April 10, 2003.


Life is too poetic to carry on out loud about,
so I take a breath to speak it, but end up silently experiencing.

This isn't my diary...i am not one to share myself with the world in such a thought-of-the-day manner, thats not natural.. You want an imperfect me breathing, you chill with me, you politic with me, you live beside me.

If I'm going to make statements in fossils...1's and 0's, they should be thoroughly thought-out...the point is its an unneccessary dimension that bears little fruit.

This is however a notepad of sorts...

I had wished for this to be at some point an outlet for my thoughts and the philosophy and imagination that twists and turns itself through my head...there's a profound, emotional, lighthearted, bright and childlike, intelligent, dark world inside my head.... ..that being just the beginning... its a world thats possible in all of us... yet somehow I still remain surrounded by a sea of dead souls, perhaps this journal was a face to speak to... a body... I dont see the face... so I dont speak to it. I see no purpose to script my life and feelings in here, sharing myself with a bunch of lifeless pages.. I script pages inside my head and implement inconclusive fluidity in a constant flow in the chemistry of networks and synapses, why do I need to go to the truoble of writing it down again? My frustration screams too loud for the broken boards that make the shack that's this journal. Quite simply, this journal can't contain me.

Everything needs a purpose... There is no purpose but to build and of course destroy, and rebuild.
Until I see a purpose for this journal, I'll be sifting through the potential.. experimenting, dabbling.

August 10, 2002.

..and P f*fuckin S.
People are trully afraid to dream.
anything is possible. do you fuckin FEEL me kidd?!?? ANYTHING IS FUCKIN POSSIBLE. Lets start this shit....

But this isn't a game.... and you have to carry your own weight.

nah, you dont really want it, though you're in love with the notion, we all are to different degrees... but for the most part you'd rather be safe, and asleep.

Some days I think I'm dying inside... Some days I think I'm becoming too tolerant... somehow my instinct guides me that I remain balanced.. only pivoting around the axis of what feels to be the center of I... and when that axis shifts with growth...(you are dead if you are not continously consciously growing, son..and daughter), I am bound to pivot..do I trully remain "me" - a soul, physical energy, emotional chemistry, a series of moments, a bucket of perceptions, a child, an adult, a fucking speckle of color on a background? does it matter, can I change it? I am in tune with my ideals for myself only as of the moment... if its no longer a part of my current psychology... and I let it go somewhere.. it happenned for a reason. If I go back, and change it... I'll only contradict a change that occurred for a reason. Nothing exists in isolation, not even nothing.

I have failed to be able to express myself in this journal in a way that is fluid, and captures any bit of me. And dear diary I ate
chicken today... well

Thoughts are always in progress... that's why they are difficult to script...
As are feelings..... stop, think and write...
Dear diary, Johnny ate my pie, I feel SO ANGRY.
(Laugh..) That aint me... the intensity is just too much for these here scrolls... for dead center statements.. you'll hear very little of my emotion as im living it, i dont tend to share that unless you are sitting beside me in the flesh and somehow fucked up and im fucking servin you... though i have been doing a whole lot less serving... am i becoming chump?

...and I dont script in here whats important and going on it silently sits in me or it bursts out of me in living color out there in the trully physical realm... this isn't living, I guess, or at least i haven't found it to be, a part of life. Its all a matter of what I perceive this journal to be... and it in itself is a work.. as I try to make it as I try to make myself - something and someone of meaning.

the dead souls around me caught up in petty thinking...unable to remotely to ponder themselves from the outside...in an ability to laugh at themselves and perceive themselves as small in some moments, and serious enough to stand tall in others.

I try to be too many things...perfect at everything, trying to live at many times living nothing at all in a world of someone who takes everything as to have meaning, and spends life pondering the significance...trying to figure it all out what should or shouldn't be, until the point that NOTHING is

perhaps the mind and the soul are a contradiction.

And you there, reading this, which this trully fails to exist without.. YOu want to wreck shop in this world with me.. you let me know, im right fuckin here. ...but dont get yourself into something that you aren't prepared to handle.
although fear is rampant, there's no place for those who fear to face themselves and face the world around them.

There's no place for cowards, in my arena.
*scratch-exit, gangstarr cuts on*




......"the way out is through".....

"I strike like lightening and don't need thunder inhale imagination and breathe wonder"-Common


"The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man."

"Never let school interfere with your education."

"The power of accurate observation is commonly called cynicism by those who have not got it."

"Secrecy and the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake are uneasy bedfollows."

"If we knew what it was we were doing, it would not be called research, would it?"

"i really fuckin feel they dont want it.. they dont want it... time and time again they rhyme about the same old shit......."

Things are meaningful, when you put thought into your conclusion, and otherwise don't conclude.

"Change is not merely necessary to life - IT IS LIFE"

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."

"When scientists and engineers are in charge of a national laboratory, they produce their best product - science and technology in the national interest.

When bureaucrats are in charge of a national laboratory, they produce their best product - bureaucracy."

"Reality is perception. Perceptions change. Reality is fluid. So if by 'reality' you mean reliably tangible objects and immutable events, then there's no such thing."

"a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds"

"Maximus: Whatever comes out of these gates, we have a better chance at survival if we work together. If we stay together, we survive.
AS ONE!!!"

"control is an illusion"

"Liberty means responsibility. That is why most men dread it."

"You can't depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus."



"I don't try to be different I am, so inevitably my style will survive when your now turns to then"

"this whole industry is ill, it's a bunch of hypochondriacs"

"what the eyes see, and the ears hear, the mind believes"

"oh look at me, I'm making people happy"-homer simpson ;)

"all the pieces don't fit
though i really didn't give a shit
i never wanted to be like you
but for all i aspire
i am really a liar
and i'm running out of things i can do

well okay, enough,
you've had your fun
but come on there has got to be someone
that hasn't yet become
so numb
and succumb
and
godDamnIamSoTiredOfPretending

pleading and
needing and
bleeding and
breeding and
feeding
exceeding
where is everybody?
trying and
lying
defying
denying
crying and
dying
where is everybody?" - Trent Reznor (NIN)

If you want to communicate with me, press the comment button, and don't let social norms stop you.

"allmatterismerelyenergycondensedtoaslowvibration that we are all one consciousness experiencingitselfsubjectively therenososuchthingasdeath lifeisonlyadream and we'rejustanimagination of ourselvesheres tom with the weather..."

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