The blog that never ends again.

Saturday 1:50 PM It is college football season. It is a Saturday. I'm not drunk. I'm studying psychology. Actually, I'm scribbling key terms into a notebook and shadow boxing in front of a mirror sporadically. I feel like I can fight again. It's too bad that I've suffered irreversible lung damage from 10 years of inhaling paint fumes and smoking. My hands are still fast. The elbow strike is still sneaky. My eyes contain the power of a thousand suns. I have a lot of pent up energy that I need to diffuse. My testosterone level is out of control. I can tell. Also out of control. My mind, body, and soul. My mind is everywhere right now. It says that I should focus on studying and reading carefully. It has black chicks dancing to Outkast's "Hey Ya" in the background. My body feels like it's going to explode. My heart feels erratic. My head hurts. This all might be stress related. Acid indigestion mixed with a touch of twisting migraines. The world is spinning. I can feel it. Science proves this to be true. But my soul is planted deep in a cat stance. It strikes out at imaginary enemies and screams for more. Happy Tiger Phoenix Storm. I recently started naming my combinations. The ol' HTPS is a backfist, cross, elbow combination. A modified version of the traditional "1,2,3":jab, cross, lead hook. I often wonder why I still feel the need to practice martial arts. I haven't been a sport fighter in years and I've managed to stay out of bar fights with my eloquence. I don't have any students of my own and no girl to fight over. I guess I just have to feel manly sometimes. Its important. I do a lot of gay things. I read, write, draw, play with music, and eat fruits. I suppose I'm overcompensating. But I now realize that I've been sitting here writing a blog when I should be over reading 4 psychology chapters. Saturday 3:30 PM Instead of reading 4 psychology chapters, I stare at the sun. It makes me smile. You're not suppose to make direct eye contact with the sun. You'll go blind, but I dare to do what you are not supposed to do. I do it, so that you don't have to. This is what I see. Words can't describe it. But this is what I think about: I'll probably be 30 before I get done with college and even then, I'd have a pretty useless degree. Maybe I need another drastic change to my life. OK. A cigarette and then I'll read 4 psychology chapters. Saturday 3:42 PM I stare at the clouds and play with the marlboro in my hand. I'm not a full time smoker anymore. Its just comfort food for thought now. A smoke break is chance for me to collect my chaotic thoughts. I think I'm realizing something about myself. I may have finally discovered why I've never been able to trust myself. I may be a communist. I'll explain later. Right now, I need to study. First, I'm going to read the newspaper though. Saturday 4:51 PM Over an hour goes by. I've written 6 key terms down into my notes. I've also laid in bed for ten minutes while I day dreamed about a girl. After that, I took a pee break. It was a long pee break. I am a constant crusader against dehydration. I think that the majority of ill will in this world is caused by a lack of water. Trust me. My name is Will. I'm the illest Will alive. While I was holding my penis, I thought about how I could use my quirks to help me study even better. I am going to write every thing I possibly can by hand, and then type up my notes on a typewriter. Then, I'll hole punch them and place them into a three ring binder. I'm effecient. I'm quirky like that. I can't remember anything that I say and nothing that I scribble. But I tend to remember everything that I type. I don't have a brain. I have a word processor. I look at particular section of the kitchen wall and think that there should be a clock there. I got a quarter of one chapter done. I deserve a break. Saturday 5:16 PM I meditate outside for bit. I sit up straight in a chair and focus on my breathing. Some people close their eyes when they meditate. Not me, I accept my immediate surroundings. I deal with the distraction. I'm trying to train myself to be able to meditate while appearing completely normal. My goal is to be able to have my body hard at work while my soul is one with the universe. But for now, I have to Sit up straight. Focus on my breathing. Let all the thoughts drown out. Quiet all voices. And let the wind carry me wherever it wishes. Its weird. Weird people meditate. Trust, I know because I'm weird. I wish I didn't have to do these types of things. I know some people that look down upon those that don't meditate or study eastern philosophy. They're mostly assholes. Some people just don't need it. The basic concept you discover is that everything is everything. And you ain't nothin'. Some people don't need to force themselves to constantly rediscover this. They already know. That makes them something. That makes them the shit. We're just shitty. If you can't understand my jive, then you're too old. Kill yourself to help fight the global population problem. I've been studying for an estimated 4 hours. I'm not entirely sure. Time is a difficult concept for me to grasp. I'm a really old soul. My soul is so old that it has alziemers. That is a hard condition to spell. Saturday 6:25 PM I write down six more key terms. I'm not learning anything. I've lost the ability to recall anything that I write. I can take notes and think of anything that I want. I don't know why I'm thinking of work. My belly sweats a lot at work. I don't have some cushy desk job. I wouldn't want one. Dickies and a T-shirt are my prefered style of dresss. I like sweating. I like to move it move it. I sort packages for a delivery company. Its one of the big ones. I won't say which because they don't pay me a lot. Fuck them. Sunday 9:12 AM I'm sitting at the typewriter making a study sheet for psychology class. Its pretty friggin' lame. I wish I was watching football and/or nailing some chick right now. I have to keep my bullshit to a minamum. That is a hard word to spell. 10:45 AM Sunday I've been reading Chapter 2 for a while now. I know now that my dopamine is acting up. My seratonin level is out of wack. My medulla is a bit too demanding and psychology is still boring. Rather, the brain is boring. I own one. I don't really need to know how it works. I just need to know that I can rely on it. My brain and I have a tumultuous relationship. He tolerate each other when we're not after each other's throats. I pay no attention to it's deffeciency and it normally pays no heed to my ambitions. Overthinking can just complicate things. Learning how I overthink things on a scientific level is even more complicated. Its actually retarded. I'd rather be in bed having sunday morning sex and listening to the Classical music station. But this is work. School is work too. I am the world's greatest worker. I should be the world's greatest student as well. I started typing my notes on the typewriter earlier. It was a waste of time. I'm an awful typer. It wasn't helping me retain anything. I was still neglecting the fact that I'm 80 pages behind in the reading. I'm still neglecting it. I'm in the back yard smoking a cigar and looking at the sky. A lot of people in my life talk like the world is about to end at any moment. A lot of these people are the same people that accuse me of being negative and condescending all the time. Well, I don't walk around thinking that life will be blinked out of existence soon. I'd prefer to think that we've only just begun. While contemplating how I won't stop till I get enough. I decided that adjectives and adverbs are useless. They are too poetic for me. Even the word poetic is an adjective. That's gay. Gay is also an adjective. Outside it was a day. It was one of those days that make you say "It's a day, today". I stared at the sky and said "It's a day, today." The sun did not respond. Suns don't talk. They just produce energy. They make the day a day. It made this day a day. And this day was a day. The day will be like tomorrow. The day was like yesterday People will say, "Phht the day! It was a day!" And I will dare to utter an adverb. "Exactly" You say "end days". I say "days". 1:01 Pm Sunday I'm in my car reading and listening to classical music. I'm 55 pages into my psychology book. So far, there isn't a plot. One of the characters, Sigmund Frued, was a bit of a weirdo. I prefered his role in the American film classic "Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure". He creeped the girls out at the mall while enjoying his corny dog. For the record, the ladies love me and I maul Georgia peaches to get them excited. This dude seemed like he was projecting his insecurities onto a lot of other people. He was a quirky character. So I'm sitting in my car right now, I'm reading page 55. My dopamine is acting up so the information is not registering within my brain. But at least I'm trying. That's all I can really do. Its a beautiful September day. The sun is shining but I don't break a sweat. A pleasant breeze allows the scent of freshly cut grass to dance into my nostrils. I sneeze. I have allergies. "Oh, this book. This book is ridiculous. Wouldn't you say so brain?" I say to my brain. "Its so revealing. I'm feeling very vulnerable right now." My brain admits. "You think that's why I cried myself to sleep last night?" I ask. "No, you did that cause you're a faggot." My brain accuses. My brain is also an asshole. I often endure conversations between my mind, body, and soul. Its pretty weird. So now I'm chewing on a rice cake and scratching my head. My hair is falling out. I go through a lot of stress. I got a lot on my plate and my hobbies don't exactly help to clean it off. They're not a real distraction. Human relations are just complicated because people are so judgemental. I am a robot. Its true. 110101001010110100101 That's robot talk. A robot needs to recharge his batteries from time to time. I'm in my car, on a sunday, eating rice cakes and reading a book. I am a robot recharging. 3:17 PM Sunday. I have consumed two bananas, a nectarine, one plum, a bean and beef burrito, one Jello pudding cup, 5 rice cakes, 4 bottles of water, and a glass of soda pop in the last two hours. I have also gotten well into Chapter 3 in my psychology book. There is still no plot. This is so boring. The rains about to fall. I wish I was out in it. Lost in the middle of nowhere, cold but not alone. The rain allows for a bit of introspection. I stare out the window and watch the sky blacken. The wind picks up. I'm not outside, but I can sense the temperature drop in the atmosphere. The precursor. Drip Drop Drip Drop Standing in the rain. I complain. The world takes a drink. I think. Drop Drip Drop Drip Faint thunder faintly shakes the earth. The lack of nicotene in my body makes my brain shake. The earth demands water. I demand tar. When the rain comes, where will you be? Will you be at home watching sunday football on your television? Will you be locked away in your home in a self-induced seclusion? Will you even notice that you've died? Will any of us? Who knows. Who cares. Who knows or cares about what I'm talking about. I'm insane.

Mental note. Talk about robot slaves.

3:24 PM Monday

I'm at home enjoying a bean & beef burrito.

Recently, people have been telling me that I'm not chubby. I appreciate that. Even though I can rationalize beyond vanity and magic belief systems tells me that its a sin, I am a vain person.

Recently, I've been getting check out more. I know the difference between being watched and being checked out. One is preemptive defense. The other is preemptive offense.

The ladies all want me. The guys all want to be me. Some of them also want me.