Today I cried in class. We were assigned to do a ninety second monologue from a play. Mine was from Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman. I studied all weekend and I could barely memorize a paragraph. When it came for my turn to act, I acted out a few stanzas then que’d an audience member to give me a hint for the next line. Then I had to keep having a student give me lines, one at a time, until finally I had to take the paper and read it out loud. I sat down and then realized why I couldn’t memorize such a task. It’s because of my fucking medication. I could feel it in my head. I couldn’t think at all as to what sentence came when. Then a few tears trickled down my face, until finally I burst into tears and fled the room. I talked to my teacher and told him that I was going to find someone with a lighter for a cigarette. I walked to a nearby convenience store and picked up a book of matches. I smoked a cigarette. On my way back, I passed Howard General Hospital and I have flicked it off.
I’m going to Sheppard Pratt today to visit my counselor. And while I’m there, I’m going to talk to my psychiatrist. And I’ll tell him, “Thanks, but no thanks. With this medication, I can’t remember a ninety second monologue at all. Get me off of this shit.”
I also lost another pack of cigarettes today! I think I might as well quit. Oh, about ten minutes ago - I walked up to a cute asian girl in the computer lab of HCC, and passed her note reading, "Hi! I think you're very beautiful. I'm having a bad day and I thought I'd do something, like try to cheer someone up. Take care! Paco"
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Blueberry Acai
Hello! Hola! Aloha! Adios! Hola! Ahola! Hello! Hi! Hey! You there! I say hello in so many different languages. Pardon me, I’m drunk. I speak en espanol. My word processor can’t process that espanol is literally a word! I haven’t kissed a girl in months! Let me go! Take off my t shirt! Listen to Reel Big Fish (they’re groovy)! So today I bought cigarettes and a forty. I also went to a bar. Some jerk said to his wife, “Hey, I think I look younger than him” and I said, “you do!” We laughed and drank beer. Then I left. It wasn’t very fun. So what else is new. I stole caffeine pills from a local store, the lady yelled at me and called the police. T.J. (the gas station attendant) told me this. I went back there today and bought caffeine pills. She was very cool and acted like it never happened. I hope I haven’t driven her insane like so many chicks. I’m going to pass out and take a nap. I’m sweaty. Leave me alone! You’re not even talking to me! Tomorrow I’m going to my college to act out a monologue from Death of a Salesman with a fellow peer and aid. It’ll be fun. Then I’ll ride the Howard Transit to my house to play 78” vinyl albums. I’ll blast it and make sure it’s turned on to 11. My receiver only goes to 10 but with my imagination it goes to eleven. Even at 10 - it gets very loud. My mom will shout, “Paul! Turn it down!” and I’ll say, “I can’t hear you! The music’s too loud! I should turn it down!” Then we share syringes and shoot heroin. I’m just kidding! No I’m not. You decide.
So If this was the twilight zone, would I meet Rod Sterling? I heard he died of tobacco poisoning. This should be a warning to me since I also smoke tobacco (but it comes in the form of cigarettes). I frequently smoke cigarettes. I puff on them (“puff, puff” {this is the sound of cigarettes [they taste so good^\I‘m so confused by all the weird symbols!/]})^@%!&!^%@#&*@(. I just cursed in F.C.C. language. (Fuckers!) Censor that you whores! Please don’t throw me in prison. I like my name!
Once I was riding my bicycle when I was a kid, I closed my eyes and rode the bike without any hands, then very soon I went flying mid air and landed on the hard pavement. Luckily, It was so long ago, I can’t remember the pain. It’s just a funny story! But it really happened! I assure you (we’re open)-that was a Clerks joke). That was a good movie. I was once a clerk. In a land so very much like this one. My first job was unloading groceries for a shitty supermarket entitled Mars Supermarkets. Conservative pricks! My second job was Dunkin’ Donuts. That sucked too. But at least I carried home trash bags full of donuts. I’d bring them in for my friends and they’d all surround me like I was a celebrity and I’d joke and say, “Why don’t you eat this filth like stinkin’ rats!” I’m just kidding again. I never once said that. There was a time though, It was snowing and I had to ride my bike home in the snow. It was very cold. And I bitched for a long time to my mother because she locked both locks on the door. I said, “You knew I was coming home! Why would you lock both locks, it’s so cold outside!” Then one day an employee said to me, “You’re working 4 a.m. tomorrow morning.” And I said, “Oh no, I put in my two weeks, two weeks ago.” I no longer worked there. AND THEN since I had a 8mm film projector at my disposal (at my house), I applied to AMC movie theatres in Columbia and marked off the position entitled projectionist. I also wrote, “I have experience. I work with an 8mm projector at my house.” Pretty soon I was hired and there was lovely times there, getting stoned, playing guitar, talking to preps, talking to girls, throwing things off the roof, yelling into a walkie talkie because the Cheesecake Factory used the same channel, writing my name on splices, fucking with the audio! Too much fun to name! I worked there for awhile until one day I went crazy and thought that I was a character like Winston Smith of 1984. I abused cough syrup and I hallucinated crazily! I assure you I saw colors so vibrant! Crayola could never create the kind of colors I saw that week. Long story, cut short, I landed myself in a psych ward and devastated one romantic relationship with a girl. I was in agony for years. Very depressed. I worked many side jobs and poorly attended college classes. No amount of drugs nor fun could ever pull me from that depression. Until one day I said to myself, “Maybe there’ll be a day, one day, that she remembers me.” So I listen to a Reel Big Fish song spool lyrics like this, “everybody’s lookin’ at me, thought I saw my face on mtv or a magazine that she won’t read, stole her heart but it’s not my fault, lookin’ at my picture she forgot about her boyfriend, yea.” But I’ve moved on and surely made an ass outta myself to countless amount of friends.
Now I’m on the brink of survival. Just hangin’ in there. There is one girl I like. You might know since I’ve already laid the shell in the ocean. I’m just so weary of threatening things. Like my medication. I’m much happier without it. But I can’t afford a car or an education without my parents helping me. But I’m afraid they won’t help me if I stop taking my medication. So I need to find a fucking job so I can grow up, and be one crazy man. This is what I’m destined to be. I hate this shit. But mania is only there in the faint distance. I can’t wait!
I am very close to getting my license back. The Thought Police took it away from me a year ago. I’m going to go to the MVA like I did when I was seventeen and pretend like Marlon Brando that there are drivers around me, and get my license! Finally! Then I can take out one pretty girl to the ocean and walk into hotels, getting stopped by security, saying, “Are you staying at this hotel?” and I’d say, “Run, L**y, run!!! Then I’d trip and my tongue would hit a stone (that was dosed with lsd and trip!). The nice chlorine smell of the air would tickle my senses and I’d shout “Wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful! Who ever invented such a wonderful smelling smell! I love chlorine!” And L**y would fret, “The fuckers! They’ve even dosed the stones! No!!!!!!!!!!! I must save you!!!” She puts on her roller skates and skates to the channel that directs that run off of chlorine. “Not this time!”, she says. Suddenly the cool air smells like air freshener and towels. “Where’s that lovely smell!” I say. “It’s gone Paul!” “No!!!! Chlorine!! Does this hotel have the hockey game?” “Yes, it’s downstairs, but we don’t have any money!” “Fuckin’ Thought Police.” (That’s what I said).
Soon enough the colors, effervescent sounds, smells, feeling of the hotel vanished. I woke up in Ellicott City. “What the fuck happened?! Where’s L**y?! Where’s the hockey game?! God dammit!” “Where’s the hockey game?” I hear a voice from behind a nearby mailbox. “Do not move. Stand up and put your hands above your head!” I was suddenly surrounded by men wearing Capri shorts and black tank tops. “We’ve got you 4617987654321!” “How do you know my name?!” I shouted. “We’ve named you since the beginning!”, said the man in front. “Where’s L**y!” “Who’s L**y?” “Don’t gimme that shit! I was talking to her just a moment ago!” “There is and never once was a girl named L**y.” “You sons of bitches. I’ll throw rocks through your windows and put sugar in your gas tanks, you fuckin’ whores! Tell me where she is!” All of a sudden a man from the back, came up front and hit me on the side of the head with a large rock.
I was disillusioned. I was looking all around me, trying to gather just exactly where I was that I was at. I was in Howard County General Hospital. I looked at the art work on the hallways as I was being wheeled into the Psychiatric Ward of the hospital. “Oh fuck! Not again!”, I said. Soon enough, I recognized an aid who I’d met before. “Hey John,” he said. “What the fuck! My name’s not John!” I knew exactly why he had called me John. Earlier, when I was hospitalized at the age of 20, I had sworn he was John Malkovich. This was his pay back. Pretty soon I was surrounded by security guards who pushed me into the quiet room. They threw me down on a blue mattress and drugged me with attavin. Then they closed the door behind them, locking me in. Just one camera positioned in the upper corner of the room. I flicked off the camera and spat on the window of the door. “Fuck you, man! Fuck you!” I was growing anxious and extremely tired. I sang “Sittin’ on my Sofa” by the Kinks to myself. Then I laid on the mattress and passed out.
To Be Continued…
So If this was the twilight zone, would I meet Rod Sterling? I heard he died of tobacco poisoning. This should be a warning to me since I also smoke tobacco (but it comes in the form of cigarettes). I frequently smoke cigarettes. I puff on them (“puff, puff” {this is the sound of cigarettes [they taste so good^\I‘m so confused by all the weird symbols!/]})^@%!&!^%@#&*@(. I just cursed in F.C.C. language. (Fuckers!) Censor that you whores! Please don’t throw me in prison. I like my name!
Once I was riding my bicycle when I was a kid, I closed my eyes and rode the bike without any hands, then very soon I went flying mid air and landed on the hard pavement. Luckily, It was so long ago, I can’t remember the pain. It’s just a funny story! But it really happened! I assure you (we’re open)-that was a Clerks joke). That was a good movie. I was once a clerk. In a land so very much like this one. My first job was unloading groceries for a shitty supermarket entitled Mars Supermarkets. Conservative pricks! My second job was Dunkin’ Donuts. That sucked too. But at least I carried home trash bags full of donuts. I’d bring them in for my friends and they’d all surround me like I was a celebrity and I’d joke and say, “Why don’t you eat this filth like stinkin’ rats!” I’m just kidding again. I never once said that. There was a time though, It was snowing and I had to ride my bike home in the snow. It was very cold. And I bitched for a long time to my mother because she locked both locks on the door. I said, “You knew I was coming home! Why would you lock both locks, it’s so cold outside!” Then one day an employee said to me, “You’re working 4 a.m. tomorrow morning.” And I said, “Oh no, I put in my two weeks, two weeks ago.” I no longer worked there. AND THEN since I had a 8mm film projector at my disposal (at my house), I applied to AMC movie theatres in Columbia and marked off the position entitled projectionist. I also wrote, “I have experience. I work with an 8mm projector at my house.” Pretty soon I was hired and there was lovely times there, getting stoned, playing guitar, talking to preps, talking to girls, throwing things off the roof, yelling into a walkie talkie because the Cheesecake Factory used the same channel, writing my name on splices, fucking with the audio! Too much fun to name! I worked there for awhile until one day I went crazy and thought that I was a character like Winston Smith of 1984. I abused cough syrup and I hallucinated crazily! I assure you I saw colors so vibrant! Crayola could never create the kind of colors I saw that week. Long story, cut short, I landed myself in a psych ward and devastated one romantic relationship with a girl. I was in agony for years. Very depressed. I worked many side jobs and poorly attended college classes. No amount of drugs nor fun could ever pull me from that depression. Until one day I said to myself, “Maybe there’ll be a day, one day, that she remembers me.” So I listen to a Reel Big Fish song spool lyrics like this, “everybody’s lookin’ at me, thought I saw my face on mtv or a magazine that she won’t read, stole her heart but it’s not my fault, lookin’ at my picture she forgot about her boyfriend, yea.” But I’ve moved on and surely made an ass outta myself to countless amount of friends.
Now I’m on the brink of survival. Just hangin’ in there. There is one girl I like. You might know since I’ve already laid the shell in the ocean. I’m just so weary of threatening things. Like my medication. I’m much happier without it. But I can’t afford a car or an education without my parents helping me. But I’m afraid they won’t help me if I stop taking my medication. So I need to find a fucking job so I can grow up, and be one crazy man. This is what I’m destined to be. I hate this shit. But mania is only there in the faint distance. I can’t wait!
I am very close to getting my license back. The Thought Police took it away from me a year ago. I’m going to go to the MVA like I did when I was seventeen and pretend like Marlon Brando that there are drivers around me, and get my license! Finally! Then I can take out one pretty girl to the ocean and walk into hotels, getting stopped by security, saying, “Are you staying at this hotel?” and I’d say, “Run, L**y, run!!! Then I’d trip and my tongue would hit a stone (that was dosed with lsd and trip!). The nice chlorine smell of the air would tickle my senses and I’d shout “Wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful! Who ever invented such a wonderful smelling smell! I love chlorine!” And L**y would fret, “The fuckers! They’ve even dosed the stones! No!!!!!!!!!!! I must save you!!!” She puts on her roller skates and skates to the channel that directs that run off of chlorine. “Not this time!”, she says. Suddenly the cool air smells like air freshener and towels. “Where’s that lovely smell!” I say. “It’s gone Paul!” “No!!!! Chlorine!! Does this hotel have the hockey game?” “Yes, it’s downstairs, but we don’t have any money!” “Fuckin’ Thought Police.” (That’s what I said).
Soon enough the colors, effervescent sounds, smells, feeling of the hotel vanished. I woke up in Ellicott City. “What the fuck happened?! Where’s L**y?! Where’s the hockey game?! God dammit!” “Where’s the hockey game?” I hear a voice from behind a nearby mailbox. “Do not move. Stand up and put your hands above your head!” I was suddenly surrounded by men wearing Capri shorts and black tank tops. “We’ve got you 4617987654321!” “How do you know my name?!” I shouted. “We’ve named you since the beginning!”, said the man in front. “Where’s L**y!” “Who’s L**y?” “Don’t gimme that shit! I was talking to her just a moment ago!” “There is and never once was a girl named L**y.” “You sons of bitches. I’ll throw rocks through your windows and put sugar in your gas tanks, you fuckin’ whores! Tell me where she is!” All of a sudden a man from the back, came up front and hit me on the side of the head with a large rock.
I was disillusioned. I was looking all around me, trying to gather just exactly where I was that I was at. I was in Howard County General Hospital. I looked at the art work on the hallways as I was being wheeled into the Psychiatric Ward of the hospital. “Oh fuck! Not again!”, I said. Soon enough, I recognized an aid who I’d met before. “Hey John,” he said. “What the fuck! My name’s not John!” I knew exactly why he had called me John. Earlier, when I was hospitalized at the age of 20, I had sworn he was John Malkovich. This was his pay back. Pretty soon I was surrounded by security guards who pushed me into the quiet room. They threw me down on a blue mattress and drugged me with attavin. Then they closed the door behind them, locking me in. Just one camera positioned in the upper corner of the room. I flicked off the camera and spat on the window of the door. “Fuck you, man! Fuck you!” I was growing anxious and extremely tired. I sang “Sittin’ on my Sofa” by the Kinks to myself. Then I laid on the mattress and passed out.
To Be Continued…
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
no impulse to shirk
Hello and fuck you! Boobaboobaboobachoo. I’m just kidding! I’m sitting in a computer lab at HCC because I have no car. Yesterday, I wanted a cigarette, so I chased a girl and yelled, “hey pretty girl!” and she gave me a cigarette. A fellow classmate of mine named Demetrie brought up marijuana so we ended up smoking in her car. I was so high, that I gave horrible directions and Melissa ended up in Silver Spring. I said, “take a U turn!” and then the car to her left smashed into her left door. Now I feel so bad about this.
I figured it was ironic that we got in a car accident after being in a class discussing life changing events. I also think it’s a bit ironic that the accident might’ve appeared on the internet and might’ve been televised when I’m just starting 1984. Though that’s not really Big Brother but, whateva.
So I am going to enjoi my hottest hallucinations and type another weird story for Lexy to read! Goodbye readers! Whoever you are, bless your buttons.
I figured it was ironic that we got in a car accident after being in a class discussing life changing events. I also think it’s a bit ironic that the accident might’ve appeared on the internet and might’ve been televised when I’m just starting 1984. Though that’s not really Big Brother but, whateva.
So I am going to enjoi my hottest hallucinations and type another weird story for Lexy to read! Goodbye readers! Whoever you are, bless your buttons.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Talk Talk free my mind loser!@
- I am typing at a very slow pace. I talked to a gentleman today, I forgot his name. Dammit! I really thought I’d remember. I bummed a cigarette off him; he was wearing a Pillsbury Doughboy t shirt. I’m so shitty with remembering people’s names. I’m going to an acting class in 10 minutes and we have to do a 5 minute monologue where we’ve learned something. So I’m going to talk about how I hallucinated for a week from doing cough syrup when I was 20. I’ve got 3 minutes left. I’m freaking out! Help me! Sedate me! Seduce me. Sexy me. Talk to me freaky. I’m going to ask Lexy out on a date tomorrow! Hopefully she doesn’t have a boyfriend, nor hoping she isn’t reading this so I can surprise her tomorrow!
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