I made a poem.

It's called "Poopoo is it Empty?"

Poopoo is it empty?
The water you drink.
I would fill it Poopoo,
But I forgot how.

Poopoo is it empty?
The bowl in your legs.
Does it glargle poopoo?
In a hollow way.

Poopoo your wet snout,
has stained my shorts again.
I guess I remembered,
For you.

I dropped out. I am drunk. i am almost talking to my gateway counsellor now, but it's through email so not really, huh? i just want to drop out, right. she wants to talk. i don't know if she knew what she was getting into when she took this job to help all these fucked up teary kids.

i will read this when i am sober and hate this. but so what.

From Geology!

These are some random things I've written during Geology lectures.

I wish that people were born with their body shape and that it couldn't be changed. The lanky people would be lanky, the fat fat, lean lean, curvy curvy. There would be no health benefits, defects, associated with any of these, there would be no changes, attraction would be equal and WE COULD JUST BE. No, no, maybe not.
~
Something wicked-Jonestown-why didn't Jones just give his followers Prozac and then suddenly stop? Half of America knows that the withdraw would be more painful than cyanide kool-aid. They would kill themselves. It would have been more of a statement, doom, yes. Probably more messy, too. Prozac is expensive though.
That is fucked up.
~
The right-way mentality. We travel on the right, always on the right.
~
What I remember about the guy I saw a long time was that he had a lot of friends but seemed very lonely.
~
"He grows his own weed. Other things, too. You didn't know that?"
"No."
"That's what his friends say. They would know."
"He has friends?"
"Have you seen him? Of course he does."
"Yeah, I know." I was sinking into the seat and suddenly felt very far away.
"I think he's single. There was a rumor that he was gay."
"It doesn't matter." It didn't.
Outside the highway blurred, like a dull gray river. I suddenly wanted to open the door and roll out onto the road, into the water. I'd be carried away by the current, tumbling around, eventually landing on the bed to be buried by mud. I reached for the handle, rested my hand on it, unbuckled my seatbelt...
"What are..."
I pulled and she screamed.
.
Rising out of my dream her scream became mine, but my throat was crushed under the weight of some spectral tire and the noise died in my head.
~

What's in my doc folder?

This is the story I wrote for EN101. I only like the first half so that's all I'm posting. So there.

Mayn, Andrew

EN101 Prof. Benavidez

18 September 2008

What She Taught Me

In second grade I learned the meaning of the word “appalled” from Ms. McKenzie—I didn’t think so much about it then. I wasn’t phased, either, when Mrs. Donovan threw the dictionary across the room in fifth grade, and, when Mrs. Reed stormed from the classroom in seventh grade I was happy to have a free day. Walking past cornerstones and through the monolithic jaws of high school, however, I noticed that this place changed the teachers and it changed my peers. Or maybe it was just me who changed.

The story of the paper plane, sailing freely across a crowded room, was forgotten by my generation as we were slowly devoured by the social hierarchy and academic rigors of the school. We immediately abandoned the trappings of spit balls and “kick me” signs, forsaking them instead for devices left unmolested by our past selves. Our shields were made of tempered sarcasm and feigned apathy. We wielded camera phones, loud voices and deaf ears and though our insolence was never so bold as that of middle school or elementary school, it was, as I was soon to learn, infinitely more destructive.

High school saw me turn into a loner. I made it a point to sit in the middle of the row closest to the door so my eyes could wander lazily across the room, not so much looking at the board but watching the people who weren’t looking at it. The daydreamers, doodlers, the talkers; they all fascinated me. Behind me I listened to pencils: the incessant whine as they were dragged irreverently across textbook pages or graphite bouncing around in half empty cartridges as they hit the floor. Where the pencils were absent I heard hushed whispers, phones no one dared answer and the restless shuffling of feet, polishing in vain the grimy floor. You see, when you spend enough time by yourself your senses sharpen, so that your mind can find obscure details to cling to, things to satisfy that strange well inside your head that insists you’re actually a part of the world around you. However, in this time of quiet reflection I don’t recall ever hearing the teacher.

That changed one day in November. While we were only a month into the school year the awkward blanket of silence that covered the freshman had long since begun to fray; we had finally begun to realize that high school teachers were not going to be the paragons of discipline we had been told to expect.

I'm back, but for how long?

I'm just about to copy stuff out of my English and geology spirals. I do all of my blogging during class. I'm not sure what to put anywhere anymore.

"Is, it's hard, confusing, to be so incredibly up and then so incredibly down. Sometimes it hurts, when it happens, but it always hurts then. I was looking at myself in the mirror the other, yesterday, and it was hard to look away or move. I felt like I was falling out of my body and though I could see the drain I'm pretty sure that's where I was heading. I don't know how I came back together after that, but I did. The story triggered it, then I saw the pictures and it became worse because it didn't didn't seem like me and yet it was me, which hurt more. But I need to redeem myself for that paper so face up andrew because you've overcome worse. Just go and you will be OK. It took a geology lecture for me to realize that I'm alright so...thanks."

Those commas are more important than anything else in there, I think.

"I saw a guy who I haven't seen in a while - we don't know eachother and while it's not for me to saw how far he has fallen I can't help but think he has changed. Or maybe I changed. That possibility has been pretty common of late, more likely it has always been that way.

I can't help but think we all know only what we know, I hate that idea but how could it be anything else?"

Here's an old poem I found on my computer:

Shivering in the dark,
Watching the tips of cigarettes
Sway back and forth in the night
Like beady eyes of some
Cancerous predator.
I follow them like a moth,
High,
On some sordid promise of friendship.

Waiting in the cold,
Longing for an offer from these strangers
That are queer like the shadows
Cast from the street light.
Members of a vaporous cult
I envied from afar.
Cast away,
As they knew me better
than I, myself.

I don't remember when I wrote that.

Facebook and The Jumper

Two dreams last night, neither of them very strange considering what usually comes up when I'm asleep.

1. Me being exhilarated upon seeing dozens of new comments on Facebook until I realized it wasn't my page I was looking at.
2. A smiling man in a green suit (A Dirty Job?) on a 5th floor balcony with a pill bottle and umbrella in his hand. He begins throwing the pills, 1 by 1, to the crowd below but quickly grabs handfuls and tosses them that way. Then he stands on the rail, opens his umbrella and jumps. I was standing in the crowd and knew what was going to happen as I had seen it before: the umbrella would tear and he would plummet to his death. I'm not sure why but my tongue, which was black, shot out and grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him downwards before the umbrella would broke. He resisted and started rising instead, pulling me off my feet. The crowd grabbed onto me, trying to help save the man.

~

I love it when Maddy's tail wags, seeing as how she doesn't have one. =D

It's hot in Disney.

I'm in Disney World (or on Disney property at least) right now. It's 91 degrees down here, so there's a lot of half-naked guys walking around. Awesome. Except they've got their girl-friends, and they act really straight. And the closet fags among them keep it to themselves, like I do. You never know, which is the problem. All in all it's sort of discouraging. Oh well! At least I can look. We've been taking a lot of pictures down here, as well--not of the hot guys (though I have been trying to fit them into some of the shots, hehe) but of us everywhere. It's a good thing. It seems like when I turned ten we suddenly stopped taking pictures. If people looked in our family albums they might think we dropped off the face of the earth around the year 2000. Maybe earlier, I don't know. It sort of sucks though. My parents aren't in pictures either, so they don't really exist in the material world [of others].

~

Part of me hopes I'll get sunburned on all these trips I'm going to be taking this summer. I always look more healthy and less like a ghost when I'm red. I don't ever recall being tan. Would it look good? Why did whoever have to make us so self-conscious? JUST GET OUT THERE! I wanted to talk to this guy on the last day of my fitness class because I knew I'd never see him again; so what if he brushed me off? I didn't, but maybe some day I will. I need muscles!

~

We're going to the Magic Kingdom tomorrow (my dad is done with his meetings) so that should be fun. I hope we all meet up in front of the castle, or around the lake, and watch fireworks like they did in that episode of Full House. Man, Steve was hot.