Three of my favorite things (drinking, gambling, and animals) are all concatenated into one orgy of amazing at the race track. I went on dollar day; dollar admission, dollar beer, dollar hot-dogs and dollar chicken wings. There’s basically no one there, so you can sit wherever you want or stand at the rail and yell at the horses as they truck through and make you rich.
Yo whatup girrrrl.
I haven’t overshared too much lately so I think I’m going to just sit here and write until I feel like I’ve done some vicious divulging.
I went to berkeley park tonight and I’ve been writing to some people in portland. I don’t skateboard as much as I should. I don’t write as much as I should either. There are 168 hours in a week, and i only work for about 50 of those. I sleep for probably another 50, but let’s call it 70 to include showers, eating, etc. So I have like 40+ hours a week to do whatever the fuck I want. I should be writing and skateboarding more.
It looks like I might be spending the first thanksgiving away from my family ever this year. I might go to portland.
When I was at sfsu I thought that maybe the best possible thing that could hapeen to you would be to live in a place where you barely spoke the language and to fall in love with someone who didn’t speak your language but somehow also fell in love with you. In the late morning she would be on the phone speaking french while you were in her bed sort of wondering what she was talking about but really just enjoying her background music voice and looking between the white blinds at the apartment building across the street.
When I was in high school I wrote a poem called A Comparative Statement is not a Valid Form of Compassion. I think maybe I was a bitter motherfucker for a while. I found a copy of it and it’s really a terrible poem.
I have a character in my head who falls in love with events but not people. He would marry a place in time before he would ever marry a person. I have a friend in real life who falls in love with events and in turn falls in love with the people in them. He might marry a person because of an event and feel duped when the event stops vibrating and he is left with only a person who was there.
There are characters in books and in movies that can teach you a lot about yourself, but you’re usually too caught up to know it. You’re like, “Fuck those people.” Or you’re like, “I wish my life was like that.” It’s rare that you see one of those people that’s like you and say, “Yeah that’s pretty fucked up–I probably shouldn’t do that anymore.” A polished conception of self is really important to me.
I want to shave and to clean my room, but I have no razor and no motivation. I’d rather spend one of my 40+ hours watching Nova in HD.