Splits apart like a jaw, like an eye

"Um, I'm thinking...that a lot of my internal conflict and malaise comes from the tension between the life i ACTUALLY want to live, and the stories I'd love to be able to tell?"

Thanks for that, Dino Comics. Thanks for saying what's true inside of me.

Writing is going so slow. It's like I care, but I get so distracted. I need, for instance, to not talk to people online, or be connected to the internet. And I know these things are bad for me, but I do them. Why? Why did I waste a whole weekend reading Anne Of Green Gables and Carl Sandburg and watching videos of Disney World attractions and episode after episode of "30 Rock" and "Carnivàle" and a little of the first season of "Mad Men"?

Okay, the books were for class credit. But the shows? The endless WikiHopping through articles about the films that I'm watching this year? Damned internet. Distraction.

Oh and I saw Okkervil River and it was amazingly good, and I feel like I'm five years younger and freaking out as a fan, but seriously, Black Sheep Boy changed the way that I listen to music and look at storytelling, and a pretty good portion of how I look at life, so when I was standing there in that crowd of Vancouver Hipsters and trying my best to be cool, I decided, fuck it, I love this band. So I was all crazy and singing along, like I was atmy very own version of what it must be like going to a Miley Cyrus show, only this cost twenty bucks and I had beer and I almost cried at certain moments.

Suck it, Hipster Vancouver. Stand there looking cool and talk about your bicycles and your organic choices and your cigarettes and what the next tattoo of a bird you're going to get, and enjoy the fact that you'll never be able to really enjoy something like a concert, because enjoyment comes from the heart, and you don't want to do that, because then you wouldn't be ironic. Go break up with your girlfriend and drink fake absinthe, go drop out of school and work at American Apparel and blow your money on shit you don't need. Call yourself a socialist, even though you're a cog in capitalism, and it gets you off.

That rant went nowhere. I need to get back to work.

Also, my American Poetry professor keeps pissing me off. And my landlord is insane. And there's not much I can do to help myself in either situation.

But I'm going home in about three weeks and can do lots of wonderful things. Swan Lake!