BRING IN THE NEW YEAR WITH STYLE

ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE. ENJOY THE SILENCE.

Life Goals, ongoing list in no particular order

1. Go on a date with Shannyn Sossamon

2. Base jump EFFECTIVELY [base jumping cannot be my cause of death]

3. Learn to speak Swedish fluently

4. Live in Seattle

5. Continue making music with Brian

6. Fall in love, literally, like have one of those stupid clumsy movie moments just so I can say I fell into it. I can fall out too. [Nuclear fall-out]

7. Get in a fist fight with Kissinger

8. Be a better yogi

9. Take over the world

10. Have Isaac Brock/Jeff Magnum on speed dial

our house smells like curry and even soma our girls is FURRY!!!

My 22-year-old cousin enjoys layin' down the beats.

She also told me that I remind her of the chick in this movie.

I just rented it off of itunes. I'll watch it later.

I need to get netflix.

Broken Social Scene wrote the score. As they do with every indie Canadian film.

So, I guess, I have nothing to lose.

I watched it, I can understand why she thought that the girl was like me.

At the same time, it's like you could relate a million different people to her.

That's the thing about movies.

I enjoyed the soundtrack, it was pretty excellent.

Yeah.

I Have a Pretty RAD Younger Cousin.

Read his blog.

He's such a G.

He'll grow up to be a good kid.

Note to Nabil:

NOW that I've decided that you're gonna be excellent, you gotta follow through.

This shit is on the internet.

The worldwide web is forever man.

Stay ghetto fab [no not really],

Piya Apu.

P.S. Here's the pokemon theme song, I know you dig that stuff. And here's a crazy cover.

P.P.S. Don't stop believin'

Happy Hall-ee-daze.

Since I don't celebrate Xmas-- I'll skip to New Year's.

There are so many things that you plan on doing every year, ya know?

And then it's almost as if those goals exponentially disappear.

People talk about that happening to them a lot-- making resolutions and not living up to them.

Well, the fact of the matter is that I haven't made an effort to make a list of resolutions since grade school. And I never lived up to those anyways. And this blog entry is not gonna be about me making a list now.

I mean, if I haven't done it yet, don't think I'll do it any time soon. Moreover, I'm pretty sure the people who keep New Year's Resolutions are the same ones that make scrapbooks. But... I guess a blog is an online scrapbook.

Jesus, if I originally looked at it that way, I'd never have started.

So, instead of looking to the future, I decided to look into the past.

Here are some journal entries from 8th grade English, and I guess this kind of fits since I'll be interning at the middle school with my old 8th grade English teacher.

Talking to her today, she made me realize how the grades that followed mine have gotten increasingly mediocre, both in maturity and talent. [Not that the writings that follow this rant are any good...] It seems as though kids don't really develop "friendly" relationships with their teachers anymore. Stupid.

Well, whatever, here are two of my entries from 8th Grade:

[Age 13] 8^th Grade Journal Entries:

If you could choose any animal to represent you, which animal would accurately represent your personality? Why?

I think that an ostrich would best describe my personality. Ostriches are odd birds because they cannot fly and that relates to my personality because, frankly, I am a tad too far from normal. I also want to break free from the tethers of society, but I always seem to get caught in its nets. Ostriches are also big and my personality is very big. I am extremely complex and don’t even think either my closest friends or me know exactly who I am. Ostriches also have a tacky sort of feather color: I myself am extremely tacky. Ostriches also have very large eyes and that intertwines with my personality because I see things that most probably would be better left ignored. Finally, I’d like you to know that although I am odd, I am completely aware of it. I find myself to be very interesting/ spiffy/cool/swell/nifty person.

Teacher notes: I won’t argue! You are weird! I think it is great, though!

Have you ever felt confined physically or emotionally?

Yes, I have felt confined physically and emotionally. Sometimes when I feel confined physically is when my Mum makes me go to fundraisers and “old people” parties. I just have to sit there, minute after minute, hour after hour—being bored and having nothing to do. If I do talk to my sister or someone I know, my Mum tells me to be quiet… It gets really annoying.

Sometimes I feel confined emotionally when I can’t tell someone the truth about something because it will hurt their feelings. For example, when someone asks me to do something with them and I really don’t want to [because I don’t really like them], I still have to say yes or make up something. That way no one’s feelings get hurt.

In conclusion, I do, indeed feel confined physically and emotionally, although the confinement isn’t exactly the average type.

Teacher’s notes: Ha! Ha! You have to go to old people parties!

My conclusion to all this is that I’ve always been eccentric but not in the way that I wrote about. It's like I tried to be weirder than I actually was in order to prove something or be someone "different". There's so much unnecessary self-depricating that teeters on the line of paradox, almost as if I'm boasting about it. But hey, that's middle school, I was insecure and thought that hyperbolic character would make my idiosyncrasies go away. For what it's worth, I learned that that shit doesn't matter. Being fake is stupid and immature and it almost always leads to trouble. Like pretending to have more money than you actually have, and being haughty just to fit in. Man, middle school is nasty-- if Ms. Herbert [8th Grade English teacher] actually considered me "sophisticated and mature" I wonder how bad it is now.

Music I listened to in 8th Grade and made Ms. Herbert listen to:

Dntel - (This is) The Dream of Evan and Chan

Figurine - IMpossible

Rilo Kiley - Science vs. Romance

Deerhoof - Panda Panda Panda

Two Days - Methinks It's A Record

Alright, so what have I been thinking about?

Um, I dunno.

I've been thinking about Boccaccio.

My friend imitated some of his work [Decameron-esque] for a class and I read it and it was impeccable.

Decameron [which I am yet to read] is "known for its bawdy tales of love, appearing in all its possibilities from the erotic to the tragic."

Her tale was about a monk who is a sculptor and falls for the wife of a merchant while making a sculpture of her. She, my friend, used subtle language saturated with innuendos, which, if you read closely, pretty much ends with the monk fucking the wife and making a beautiful sculpture. And then having the other wives of the city line up to get sculptures done.

Oh those tainted monks! The life of celibacy[?]

At least he found a way to get some.

Anyways, it was nice, I think I'll read some real Boccaccio, he's funny.

So I have four papers to write tonight meaning I'll need to brew a shit load of coffee. I'm not too excited but it'll be okay.

More importantly, I saw something beautiful today.

It was this leaf that was kind of frozen to one of the gigantic windows that line the corridors of our school.

It looked so nice with all the space it had and the glass surrounding it was like a beautiful pool of transparent ice. The kind you only find in superman's cave.

For some reason, the image kind of reminded me of those popsicles you'd make at home and sometimes you'd freeze some sort of candy inside. Or like those snowcones.

I don't know, my mind's meandering.

It's the first day of winter, the shortest day of the year.

It's the first time I'll do work in a while and it seems as though time is not on my side.

I can pretend though, yeah?

I think I will.

Haha, time, will you stand by me?

Pretenders - I'll Stand By You

Rolling Stones - Time Is On My Side

Educate Yo Children.

So...

I didn't end up doing my work 09.

Great.

I'm gonna need to be responsible and not go out tonight.

Whatever, I'll be in a basement with a hookah and the girrrrrls for most of Saturday, sooooo FUCK IT.

I took a picture of myself and I look terribly angry.

It's funny.

I hope I don't look like that usually, ahaha.

White Flight - The Condition

I'm ready to die

AHHHHHHH.

Exhaustion.

I'm gonna get lazy and post something more boring than usual.

Ya dig?

My life consists of me being too lazy to write papers and thusly, spending my time doing nothing.

But really, that's not it.

I've just been in a dry spell, I swear... kinda.

The philosophy paper that I wrote about a couple of days ago WILL happen by 6:30 tomorrow morning-- I'll just wake up at 4.

AND, I'm just waiting for my muse to help me with a memoir piece.

I'm a patience patient.

Alright, now I'm gonna power-nap till 4.

Oh and this is an old blog post that I found that I had deleted, but emailed to myself also, HOW FUCKING EMO, haha:

Precursor.

I'm standing in this field and there's a monarch butterfly and and I stop to write and its gone and I love it and I miss it.
That happened after I left the mosque to go smoke a cigarette.
I hid in the trees, I wanted to be invisible.
Now, I sit on the broken pavement beside the field looking out into fall in suburbia. Birds are migrating. I'm wet because I waded through the overgrown dew covered grass. The birds are still flying in one direction-- probably south.
I have cold pizza and whiskey in my stomach. I have no control and I love it. So much.
I want to sit here forever. Study the cracks in the hardened tar. They look like tectonic plates. Ants crawl in and out, I miss Dorchester.
I'm not sure what I'm becoming, but I embrace it. I can hear the crickets chirping, but I thought that that only happened at night. My breath smells like minty smoke.
I feel like I'm waiting for something, but I don't know what. I wish I didn't have to wait-- I wish it would just come.
Maybe I am invisible?
There's stuff stuck to my jacket, they look like those amoeba things, but with cilia. I forget what they're called. They look alive.
What am I doing? I feel like a cliche about being infinitesimally small in this goddamned place.

Tea Time. But it's too early, darling.

Sweet Dreams

Guys, Charlie's really sexy>>

Sooooo.

I'm bored and I am rekindling my friendship with Stephanos.

He says, "It's beautiful."

We're in the library, but we're dancing in our seats.

It's the Eurythmics, you can't help but dance.

Charlie finds out if he gets into school today, why the fuck is he studying for physics.

No reason, no reason.

Matthew's looking good in his beanie and flannel.

I'll tell him that.

He nods and smiles.

"Thanks. What did you write about me? Whatever, I'm over it."

Stephanos got 9.5 hours of sleep last night, what the fuck?

This is a boring entry-- I'm gonna go back to dancing.

Eurythmics - Sweet Dreams

On another completely unrelated note, my horoscope's degree of accuracy has taken me to a point of unease which brings about a weird sense of relief. Like the calm before a storm almost, however, the impending storm won't ever come. No. Or it might just be the consequences of my excessive listening to Dvorak's Cello Concerto in B minor. Beautiful.

Rewind <<

Sometimes I wish I had a time machine.

Or maybe a super fast jet so I could just move between China and Massachusetts.

Re-do days.

Take the people I care about with me in my jet that flies at the speed of light.

So I could replay scenes that had already come to pass, in hope that the people would forget, since we were living the same day twice.

No time lost?

I'd be like superman with seats.

Fly around this giant oblate spheroid in warp speed.

Anyways, I've been overwhelmed with a sense of apathy as well as emptiness.

If I had that jet I could get rid of it, but, unfortunately-- I don't.

In ways its refreshing, but mostly, it's painful.

Whatever.

I need a nap.

The Shins - The Past and Pending

Philosophia

And so it's Sunday morning.

This time last week I was in JP sitting in my French teacher's living room reading some Kundera.

Now, I'm mentally preparing myself to write a paper on "how friendship can enhance eudaimonia" which is happiness or living a flourishing life, like a leafy, fruitful plant.

Anyways, to fuel my progress [or lack thereof], I've been listening to a band my friend showed me [took long enough for me to check them out]: Do Make Say Think, they're a Canadian [+1] instrumental [+2] post-rock band. Brain-child of a couple of the guys from Broken Social Scene [+10]. I can dig it. No, actually, I love it.

Right now, I'm listening to The Fare to Get There, it's really of epic proportions.

I think I'll be ready to bust this paper out soon enough.

My Piggy Bank's Broke.

I dunno what to do, all I can say is uh, oh.
Where'd all the money go?!

I shower with Irish Springs soap.

So this is what happens when it's 2 o'clock in the morning and I can't sleep.

I write bad tunes that I convince myself are okay enough to share with the world.

It's only like 40 seconds long: woot.

And here's a joke my little sister told me:

What do you do when a fish sings flat?

You tuna fish.

And on a side note, I really do use Irish Springs soap.

Pick it out from a pocket full of memories.

[Firstly, some background: This is a memoir that I wrote about an accident that i was in October 2008. Secondly, the gray text is in Arabic, they're short prayers. Lastly, "Jannat" means Heaven. This is about my break from conventional religion/belief. I would also like to add that this was not the only determining factor-- Autumn 2008 was a grim season.]

Shove.

________________________________________________________________________

I

It’s the first Sunday in October. You can hear the pitter-patter of the raindrops against the top of the vehicle. Water smacks metal.

“I’m outside, c’mon,” my dad, says to the phone that I’m on the receiving end of; it always seems to be glued to his face.

I am inside, about to leave the final Forum workday before we go to press. I’ll return in an hour.

“Alright, I’m coming out, drive to the front.”

I promised my teacher I’d come. It’s 11 o’clock. Which also means it’s lunchtime at the Islamic Center of Boston – Wayland—right before the beginning of second class, religion class. Apparently, there’s an important lesson to be taught today…

Bismillahi-marjehah wamursahah,

Inna rabbi laghafur-ar-rahim.

Amin.

We roll out onto the asphalt of Lincoln Road adjacent to Lincoln - Sudbury Regional High School. The tiny silver Toyota is efficient and anything but majestic. I liken it to a gray squirrel, scurrying about the roads, which are covered with orange and red leaves.

I keep thinking that over in my head, it was a normal fall New England day. But things screwed up as we hugged the turn right after Water Row. And then before I could see what happened we hit a telephone pole and rebounded back nearly 100 feet.

II

‘WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT?!”

I continue yelling at my father.

There’s glass everywhere and although my outcry is a humorous response in retrospect, I am in immense pain. I try to recall what happened seconds earlier. But all I can do is blame my father for the split second my eyes were shut.

“I didn’t, ammu.”

“No, you did.”

They must have been shut for a reason, right? Or else, I’d be blind… Thank you God. At least I’m not dead, right? I’m good, I’ll be fine. Pain is an illusion. None of this is real. It’s only real once I’m there, in Jannat, right?

He says it was a deer. They always blame it on the deer.

“You were on your phone, you were on your phone.”

He’s crying.

I’m crying.

How much time has passed?

It’s funny how I held on to hope. Almost naïve. There can be no moral construct like the one i read about in the Qur’an. That world is unreal.

III

There is blood-drenched glass everywhere. The rain has stopped and the sun is shining through the trees, casting shadows like lace. It seems that an eternity has passed before a car driving by, stops to see the apocalyptic mess that stains the picaresque fall setting and subsequently, calls the paramedics.

“Were you wearing your seatbelt?” asks the paramedic.

My father answers for me, “Yes, I took it off after the accident”

Allah subhanah wa-t-alla? Where are you now?

Somehow they get us out of the crushed silver tin can. A squirrel no longer…

“He was on his phone, I know it, he was on his phone.” I tell my mum in the emergency room.

Apparently, I had blacked out in the ambulance, giving my mum license to think I was being delirious. I’m lying on a stretcher in a hall at Emerson. I call the Forum office from the cellphone that I still have in my pocket.

“I won’t be back for the rest of the day.”

I guess you can call that being delirious. I’m told that my neck is broken—more specifically that my C7 vertebrae is fractured in two places—and I’m being moved to the trauma center at Children’s. But apparently, I’m lucky. The other two options were death or paralysis.

That’s when it started disappearing. My hope, my optimism. And as i lay in the cot at Children’s for a week, unable to move or care for myself, I began to internalize what had happened and in what context.

IV

I forgot about God that day—or the God that I had known before. The God that I had loved so dearly. That’s what this is about, that’s what it did to me.

I couldn’t understand how I could be put through so much pain, nearly death or paralysis after I’d shown my devotion in so many ways. Am I being selfish? Is this a test? No, I think not.

This is life.

One lives life.

This was life: I prayed 5 times a day. I went to Sunday school. I was on the executive board of the Youth Group. I was involved in all sorts of interfaith programs.

The day before the accident I was awake all night praying during the most holy night of the year and then proceeded to help with “Humanitarian Day” sponsored by Islamic Relief [after a night consisting of no sleep aside from the occasional 15-minute power-nap]. I tried to remember God every second of the day.

How could this happen to me? I was doing more than I should have been. A sixteen year old, a perfect devotee. How splendid. What a great poster child!

I tried to remember God every second of the day.

Well, fuck it.

If he can forget his poster child.

She can forget him.

Zaynah Shaikh

I'm Back to Save the Universe

So the new Yeasayer album leaked yesterday. I don't know what to make of it yet, it's harking too much on the 80s revival/nostalgia thing, which is pretty hit or miss. But Ambling Alp was such a great song, I'm not willing to give up on the album as a whole yet. So I'll give it some time.

Anyway, hear it is: http://www.mediafire.com/?vm5un1kthz1

I feel weird blogging on Zaynah's blog. I hope she doesn't mind.

I also feel weird logging on to her account every time I want to post something. There must be a way to link the blog to my account as well as hers. I'm gonna find out. I hope she doesn't mind that, either.

Anyway, I'm boring.

Fondly,
Wes-lee

Cyclical, oh so cyclical.

I'm back in the same library cubical I was in this time yesterday.

I believe it's groundhog day.

I have 20 minutes until class starts.

I'll make you a playlist inspired by my flannel and torn up Cinderella shirt-- meaning that it will be indie trash and I swear to God I'm not a fan of hair metal.

Enjoy the noise, here's the tracklist:

1. Modest Mouse - Whenever You Breathe Out, I Breathe In [Positive Negative]

2. Neutral Milk Hotel - Untitled

3. The Unicorns - Jellybones

4. Wolf Parade - Language City

5. Elliott Smith - Speed Trials

6. Pavement - Summer Babe [Winter Version]

7. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah - Sunshine And Clouds [And Everything Proud]

8. Animal Collective - What Would I Want? Sky

9. Interpol - Roland

10. The Dodos - Bob

11. Pixies - Mr. Grieves

12. Broken Social Scene - Fire Eye'd Boy

13. Meric Long - Notes

---

Back in the cubical, I'll add some ponderings to this post.

It's 9:00 exactly.

English was cancelled.

In philosophy class today, we discussed Aristotle's views on a "complete" friendship. To Aristotle there were three types: utility, pleasure, and complete. Complete, of course, being the best type of friendship. It's perfect, really, to have a complete friendship. Some attributes he puts to the friendship are that the two are "pleasant without qualification" and that the two live together. Not that they live in the same house or room, but the fact that they can do what ever together. Just live. You know? Play stupid games, run errands, do nothing-- but together.

Now, Aristotle only thought that these relationships could be between two men, but that's how Greek society was and Aristotle was a fucking prick in that sense. But hey, you can't be perfect. Right?

I need to find something useful to do.

Checked my horoscope-- it's frighteningly accurate.

I am so incredibly boring, the internet can predict my habits.

There's an announcement for a school concert going off.

Great.

I think I'll go to class now.

What a Shame

That Jack Rose died this weekend. Admittedly, I didn't know much about him before his death, but what I've learned recently has been enlightening. He was a hell of a guitarist. Listen and watch:



Love,
Wesz

Capture it in film.

My friend T'chaka's pretty bomb when it comes to 3D animation.

Stanky Foot.

Big Foot doin' the stanky leg.

G-Spot Boyz - Stanky Legg

Please, just bury me with it.

Fire alarms flashing.

No sound.

PA system has announced a conclusion:

The elevator made the lights flash.

Pants Yell! - Reject, Reject

Fucking lights won't stop flashing.

I'm gonna fake epilepsy if this continues...

Elusive like a dinosaur.

It's halfway between 7 and 8.

I'm waiting for the day to start.

Of course, that doesn't ever happen.

So I think that I'll be waiting a long time.

I don't really have much to do ever.

Actually, I probably do-- I just ignore it.

Ugh.

HOW DOES SHE MANAGE?

I really hope people don't read this now that I think about it.

Tune[s]:

Modest Mouse - Interstate 8

I'm adding to this post, it's 9:13.

I've decided to be a writer.

I think that's my only option, I'm not good at anything else.

So...

I'm a Skydiving Giraffe.

It's true.
And I'm not colorblind prejudiced.

Live blog session, end: 8:54 PM.

Jump Into My Mouth and Breathe

Black Moth Super Rainbow kick ass.

My room is so isolated. It's cold, and it's small, and it's quiet. Except for my stereo. I don't know why my mum and step-dad complain about noise coming from it, seeing as I never hear them.

I have a lot of memorabilia made for me by my friends all over my room. Stuck to my computer are a note attatched to a brown paper bag that Jacko gave to me, which says "Wess-lel 'King of the Titans' Rosen", and a signed yearbook picture of Flynn McCormack from seventh grade, on which he wrote "Keep rappin and givin fly beats."

My closet door is decorated with other memorabilia. A copy of "Ceci N'est Pas Une Pipe" is the only thing that's not original, I think. There are two of mine, a photo tryptich and a print of that Cavvagio portrait that I drew glasses on. It was supposed to be like that Duchamp piece, "L.H.O.O.Q." Then there's a lot of art by Adam Dunlavy, mostly doodles, because he's incroyable and unmatchable. Then there's a drawing by my little sister, mostly squiqqles, that she did over a copy of a Satie piece. Then there's a poem Smokler did, called "A Pox on Thee, O Wesley". There's a page torn out of a physics textbook, there's a love note from Jacko, there's an ad for a Grizzly Bear show.

That was unbeievably pointless.

Today Britain passed this reform that would put a super tax on bonuses received by bankers, some huge rate like 50% or something. I can't even imagine how anyone could oppose this. Not only does it pump badly needed money into their gov't, it humbles the pigs in the banking system. Will they all leave because their bonuses will be taxed? Maybe. Would they be foolish for doing so? Definitely. What's better, $100,000 (or pounds, I suppose), or nothing? We should adopt a similar plan.

That post was so much more boring than Zaynah's last one. Sorry, internet.

Love,
Wesley

A neverending story, my stream of consciousness is.

Now, I continue this thread of live blogging which Wes is included in.

His post will be hard to top.
But it's okay, because this isn't a competition.

I am listening to my sister, she's reading in the kitchen, she's 7.

"But WHO ARE YOU?"
"Not you, I'm sure."

As she continues, I realize that she's engrossed in some Goldilocks spin-off tale.
Those seem to be all the rage these days.
Rage, rage, rage.
I have a lot of that.

Back in the day, to let it all out, I'd turn up my amp to 11 and plug the CD player in with several cords that never really ended up connecting to a guitar and let "Sleep Now In The Fire" shake the streets.

My music taste has changed since then. Still, I'll always have a place in my heart for Zack de la Rocha.

Now, for something completely unrelated.

I consider myself a very cold person, austere.
Almost like a rock.
It sucks really, but then, at times, I look back, and the pseudo-self-hatred seems just like angst.
I can see beauty in things that aren't beautiful. Wes can too.
It's nice, you know, to be able to appreciate the aesthetics of everyday life.

Today, while I hid inbetween book cases, this girl Erin kept coming up to me.
She's in a wheelchair, no mental impairment.
But it's her freshman year and she's been in it since the beginning.
I can't imagine how hard that must be.

So many things that you just can't do. But she's so happy.
SO SO SO HAPPY.
And I dunno, it kind of makes me want to cry in a weird way, because I just want to hug her and tell her that it's okay you know?
That everything will be alright, like nothing's even wrong and I might be making a fuss, but I wanna give her the world.

I could never have a smile on my face like she does every time I see her whirling through the corridors.
Maybe I just don't understand.
But I don't pity her at all, I just appreciate her place in this world and in my life as "wheelchair girl".
And she appreciates me as the "senior who rides on the elevator".

Cause you see, that's how we met, I was late for class and I needed speed, godspeed.
The elevators are for the kids who are handicapped and well, she just let me in.
She saw my face, all out of breath and she just said come in.
And that's how I started talking to her.
I don't even know why I'm talking about this, but that's what's on my mind.

I guess it's the fact that people have so many things that are supposed to make them unhappy, really like you could find a million if you tried, but there are those people who just don't give a shit, you know?

You don't have to give a shit.
Just smile.
Right?

Did that make any sense?

-- Chocolate Girl

Blogging on Zaynah's Blog (Guest Blogged By Wes)

Blog.

Not gonna lie, pretty surreal writing on someone else's blog. It's like I'm them, except not really. Because I'm not.

I don't have much to say. I'm drinking "India Tea" and listening to Wilco so it's all good, I suppose. I'm done applying to college, almost. I just need to send in my applications.

Today my little sister came up to me and said "wee-wee, you the great friend, I love you so much!" and I laughed and kept vacuuming and gave her a hug at the same time. She's standing next to me dancing around to "Kamera". In the parlance of our times, "win".

Blogs are weird.

I just checked my bank account and I have $181.54 in it. Somewhere in the ethereal mass that is the international banking system is the Money Market my dad put all my money in, which has about ten grand. I think I'm gonna withdraw it all when I turn eighteen and just wander Europe until I die.

Bring da motherfuckin' ruckus.

There's this autistic kid in my gym class named Peter. I want to make a documentary about him, because he's truly fascinating. When he opens his mouth, he either quotes some old radio program (which, through exhaustive research, I have discovered is called the Goon Show... Peter Sellers is in it) or he makes puns or rhymes about peoples' names. I'm "Wes the Wedding Dress". He has an obsession with pencils and pens, and he runs around school collecting them and describing them to whomever he wants. He moves erratically, not through some fault in his body, but because he thinks he's acting. He's like a class clown from fourth grade, but that's all he is, and he never stops. And he's eighteen. I'm not saying that to be negative at all, far from it actually. I sort of envy him. He's blissfully unaware of how goofy he is, and he has a hell of a time doing it. It'd be a better world if we all could reasonably let go of inhibitions like that. Or maybe it wouldn't, I'm not sure.

I suppose that's all I have to say for now. Sorry for any typos.

With love,
Wesley Israel Rosen

Live Blogging with Wes

7:48 PM

Un Chien Andalou: Part I



Un Chien Andalou: Part II

I ain't got no life MAN.

Oof, third post of the day, should never have deleted the old ones.
Here's some more noise, I feel like after a while, white noise is like all you can hear, maybe that's nirvana or whatever.
Blissful ignorance?
I haven't figured out the purpose for today yet, maybe there's not one every day?

Animal Collective - Slippi

Archers of Loaf - Web in Front

The Magnetic Fields - I Shatter

Enjoy the noise.

Let's go to Japan. Afterall, I am famous there.

Starting Again, Again?

SO.

I'm snowed in to Lincoln-Sudbury Regional High School for the time being, hiding inbetween bookcases.

The librarians won't say a thing, they wanna be hidden too.

The weather's quite horrible here in the suburbs, snow has already covered the pavement and the rain's decided to return the favor and protect the crystals that make up snow flakes with a sheet of ice.

I'd rather be in a waiting room with wailing children or cleaning a trampoline. That was my other option.

Go to the SSN Office with my mum and aunt. And then return home and clean the trampoline in exchange for a day off. It seemed kind of great to me, to go, you know? But of course, I had something to do, something to give.

Cause it's like, the workers at the desks of those offices don't even realize how important and monumental their jobs are. What they are doing is distributing identities. In the waiting rooms, those mothers and fathers, aunts, uncles, cousins-- they're all waiting for their identities.

Singularity in the land of opportunity.

That's the world we live in, where no one realizes their own importance, you know? Everyone serves a purpose, it's nice if you really think about it.

I think I'm gonna figure out my purpose of the day, haha.

In the meantime, I'll give the few of you who will happen to stumble upon this, a song:

Beulah - Calm Go the Wild Seas