P.A.T.S.: post apocalyptic traumatic stress syndrome

i need the name of a city or place that starts with a c. i have so many journals that the only way to keep them in order is to name them alphabetically. i have already gone through antioch and brideshead since i started doing this, but c has me stumped. i was thinking of "corfu", because st. spyridon the thaumaturge lived in corfu, and i was pretty sure that the abbey of thelema was also there, which is a nice and appropriate juxtaposition for me, but that's not how it is; the abbey was in cefalu.

nothing lame like columbus, please. we have all been to columbus, and none of us want to go back.

i hate it here. i want to go home.

i had to change my aim screen name, for several reasons. it is now: bayar khurgeye.

that's it, pretty much.

well, i wanted to write a long, lurid entry, full of expletives, about how much i hate men. then i realized that i also hate women (albeit in a different kind of way) which shot my plan all to pieces. so instead of reading my rant, you will just have to vote in my poll. it will take less than five minutes, and when it's over, you won't even have to come up with an excuse for why we should never see each other again.

Poll #1298674
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 5

what SHALL i call my zine?

it's what being alone on christmas must feel like for normal people.

oh, p.s., look what i "won" on ebay:

i wish it would get here soon, because, like oliver vranch, i have no heat.

12 days until nanowrimo. please help me think of some horrible things to happen to my main character, because i'm at a total loss. oliver's entire life is basically a litany of woe, and over the first three chapters alone, his adoptive parent dies, he gets his ass beat, he loses his job, he is the victim of "sexual failure", and he has no heat in his new apartment. the theme of the novel, in theory, is supposed to be how the little things tend to push one over the edge, but i'm having trouble coming up with little things that aren't directly stolen from my own life. (i.e. fire, etc.)

and it suddenly occurred to me that maybe all these horrible things have happened to me because i'm supposed to put them in this novel, although that seems like magical thinking, and attributing meaning to the meaningless, and we all know where that leads...

my friends, my friends, i'm
too much of a maverick
to have any friends

parked under a tree
acorns dent your suv
freedom don't come free

men, women, fucking
"let's not make this weird"
what else can we make?

i miss you like a
fat kid misses the luscious
cake that made him sick

sorry for this post
still inarticulate, i'm
taking baby steps

it hurts so much to be ugly. you just have no idea.

don't you think this honeyed knot is beginning to sour, just a little?

a rose for the vanquished
a kiss on the neck to be hanged
we're all doubled up with love
rejoice at this loneliness
this imperishable craving for hopelessness
it's hard to live on what they feed us here
it's murder and treason
in this dead-ripe season
the leaves are falling all around
and it's hard to believe in some sort of meaning
in this world that's turning round and round
and everybody's leaving
everybody's kneeling
and all that's left to want
is one good reason
for this to be left to doubt...

the new job is interesting. it's not every day that i get blamed for not curing someone's cancer.

more like every other day.

there is no one way today, need i say more
is there nothing left to say today
the crisis moments we all share
when the commonplace goes out of control
talking to a friend on the phone
she says there's a woman entirely covered with bees on the tv
i want to say it as simply as i can
you gotta act out what's gonna be real
to see you this way really worries me
let's talk and work it out
it's not my choice, it's not your fault
let me help you slip through this trap
i can see the scars but it could be worse
there is no one way today
life's unstable at our house too
the washer is overflowing, the basement is full of water
let's go up to the attic and up on the roof
talking to a friend entirely covered with bees
let's talk and work it out
let me help you sift through this crap
this can be approached constructively

i wonder if it will always hurt like this, or...

sometimes the road to recovery involves gravy.